


Unmasked

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, M/M, Monogamy As Kink, Pining, Prostitution, Satinverse!Segundus, Secret Prostitute!Segundus, Sex Work, Sketchy Safe Sex Practices Involving Magic?, Slow Burn, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: Segundus has needs, and so he embarks on secret trips to London twice yearly to work in his friend's mysterious shop. There, after many years spent in happy obscurity, he encounters a new client he knows only too well...
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is finished. It just needs to be polished and uploaded, hopefully by tomorrow at the latest!
> 
> cw for some minor violence and period typical attitudes and language toward sex work.
> 
> Also, Segundus fucks people

John Segundus is a good man He goes to church every Sunday, says his prayers nightly. He cares for his School of Magic and strives his very best to be a good Headmaster and teacher. He also considered himself to be a good and steadfast friend. To Mr. Honeyfoot and the others he’s grown used to spending time with in the wake of the disappearance of Strange and Norrell from England. 

He is a bachelor. A man who never found marriage or children an appealing concept, though he does adore women and children. Just not in a spousal or parental capacity. He thinks he would have made a wonderful uncle if he’d had siblings, and the Honeyfoots praise his gentle manner with the Honefoot grandchildren (of which there are now two!).

As for romantic entanglements, there haven’t been any to speak of since he was a man half his current age. And his tastes for intimate companionship run in directions that are best left unspoken of in polite company. 

And he doesn’t speak of them. Not ever. Nor does he indulge in them on the grounds at Starecross School of Magic. He keeps himself very much in line with the ways a proper gentleman and a Headmaster should behave. 

But, he is a man nonetheless. And so, he is subject to the tug of desire, just as any man would be. He needs relief from these desires in ways that are a bit more satisfying than the use of his own hand and the heated imaginings of his own mind. And this is why, perhaps a decade ago or more, he began taking biannual trips to London. He goes on the pretense that he needs to visit an aging aunt, and to peruse the book shops, looking for new volumes for his personal library (and then later, the library at Starecross Hall). 

And yes, he  _ does  _ do these things. Does visit an aging aunt Agnes. A sweet woman who’s always been kind to him, and who has no other family that will make the trip to see her. And he  _ does _ go to the shops, and walk down the musty, cluttered aisles, looking for books on magic that might have been missed by Gilbert Norrell’s keen eyes (though later, he learns that it is actually John Childermass who’d combed these shelves before his arrival). 

He is not a liar, and he cannot stand to tell the people in his life, Mr. Honeyfoot, Mrs. Blake, Charles, a falsehood about why he takes his twice yearly trip. But, he also cannot tell them the whole truth either. He omits his main reason for going to London. 

He has a friend, a chum from his boyhood days with whom he’s corresponded for many years. This man, a Mr. Jasper Williams, is of a similar mind to Mr. Segundus, in that he also prefers the company of other men. They’ve known this about one another all of their lives, and it has been a great balm and a comfort to have at least one other person who knows this secret thing about him. Someone with which he can carefully discuss his thoughts and feelings on such matters. This is only ever done in person. When Segundus lived in London. Since moving north, and becoming embroiled in magic and the unsettling and all consuming goings on that surround it, they lost touch for a little while. But then, one day, out of the blue, Mr. Williams sends him a letter. 

The letter reads as follows:

_ John, _

_ It has dawned on me that you might enjoy a position as a clerk in my new shop. I do not need help on a weekly, or even monthly basis. Why, you could come down once every three months, or biannually, just to cover a shift or two when you’re in London on business. It strikes me as just the sort of thing you’d take to. Let us discuss it when next we meet _

_ Your friend, _

_ Jasper _

  
  


This is not at all the sort of letter Mr. Williams usually sends him. Usually, his letters are rather longer, and provide much more detail. Talk of what books he’s reading. Repairs that need to be made on the small house he’s bought for himself. Talk of his nieces and nephews, of his walks through the market and what interesting things might have been for sale. The sort of talk that usually happens between two bachelors. They’re pleasant letters, and they meander a bit. This letter however is short and to the point, and it mentions work in his “new shop”, and mysteriously, offers him a non regular position, and only when he heads south to London a few times a year. 

Imagine Segundus’ surprise, when upon his arrival to London for a two week visit to his aunt and his friend, (and to do some business regarding books as usual), that Jasper tells him that he’s become the owner of a small men’s clothing shop. Only it wasn’t a men’s clothing shop. Or rather, it  _ was _ on the face of it a shop that sold cravats and hats and gloves, along with a haberdasher’s wares of buttons and cufflinks. But behind a door in a small hallway (that is kept locked during the day), there is a different business entirely. A place where gentlemen with enough coin and a very specific (and illegal) type of desire, could pay for the affections of other men!

Segundus is at first dumbfounded to learn of this secret place, this set of rooms down a long hall, in which a small number of men may entertain clients in privacy and safety. All while making enough coin to help keep the clothing shop afloat. The brothel, for that is what it is after all, makes far more than the shop’s small profits.

The whole business is very cleverly set up. Word spreads from trustworthy sources that there is a place in town that is not a private club that serves only wealthy men, but is not one of the flea bitten brothels where one might lose one’s purse, or one’s life if one isn’t careful. That this place, which Mr. Williams saw fit to develop when he’d inherited the shop from his uncle, (who passed away the year before), will accept any man’s coin. As long as he is clean and of an accommodating nature. Word also spreads among the men who sell their bodies as their wares, that Mr. Williams is kind and fair and that no one at this special shop will abuse them or steal their hard earned coin.

Mr. Williams’ client list soon becomes rather long, and he employs several men from his extensive list of acquaintances who perform such acts. He tells Segundus that several of the clients have requested someone of his size and stature, and specifically they ask for men who dress in women’s clothing. And this is a thing that Mr. Segundus adores, and cannot indulge in very often. He tells Segundus that he may take as many or as few clients as he wishes, and may come down as often or as rarely as he likes. He says that he does not mean to insult Segundus’ sensibilities, but if he wishes to partake in this venture, he would be richly rewarded, for men like him are not easy to find. Men who are diminutive in stature, soft of voice, fully grown and not a boy, yet with a boyish manner. Men who adore silks and satin and lace, and who can pass as a girl upon first glance. This type of person is very appealing to a large number of clients, and so Mr. Williams thought he would offer this to Segundus as a possible business opportunity and an opportunity for him to indulge in pleasures of a rare nature.

Mr. Williams assures him that the brothel is only for men. Meaning that unlike some other places in London, there are no boys there. No boys whose cheeks have not yet started showing the growth of a man’s beard. No poor innocents who are deflowering themselves to keep from starvation. No rape is allowed in this establishment, and no violence either. At least… not the sort that isn’t paid for and happily received. This makes Segundus feel better about the secrecy and the indecent acts. He could not bear to be involved in any venture that harmed innocent children.

He is of course instantly intrigued. He agrees to come down twice yearly, for a fortnight each. After he does so, after he engages in secretive acts with a few of the clients, he realizes that this is a thing he could see himself doing for quite a long time. 

There are some dangers involved of course but they are largely lessened and mitigated by caution. Mr. Williams vets his clientele as well as he can for violent tendencies and venereal illnesses, but he cannot completely assure Segundus’ safety. And there is always the chance of discovery and arrest. But he is a careful man, who conducts his business in a careful way, and so the risk is small. Segundus employs the use of sheepskin prophylactics for acts that involve penetration of his person, and he does not use his mouth for anything. Not for suckling a man’s cock, nor even for kissing. It is easier and safer that way, (though at times disappointing). 

Eventually, much later, when Segundus begins to dabble in magic, he discovers a spell to keep himself safe from disease. It is a thing he works on night and day for weeks, a spell cobbled together with bits of other spells, and he’s quite proud of it. 

He packs an extra bag for his trips. A small, leather case with a metal lock on it, and never speaks of it, so that no one will ever be curious about its contents. Inside this case he packs several things. A simple chemise of durable linen. A long, red gown in scarlet satin. A long, black wig, made of horsehair, (purchased from a traveling salesman years ago. A man who asked no questions about why a gentleman would want such an item), and a small assortment of other lady’s things. Feathers, jewels, rouge for lips and cheeks. And perhaps most importantly, a masquerade mask. It is finely made, of black silk and black silk beads and with black feathers. A discarded keepsake from a drunken noblewoman who dropped it outside the gate at Mrs. Pleasance’s house early one morning. Segundus had spotted it on leaving the house, and had hurried to take it inside and put it somewhere safe and secret. He hated taking things that did not belong to him, but the woman, whomever she had been, was long gone, and he would have no easy or reasonable way to return it to her. The mask, once he’s brushed it off and repaired a few of the bent feathers, does a good job of hiding his eyes and nose from view. It will help him keep his much cherished anonymity, and hopefully, add a level of mystery to his appearance that the clients find appealing. 

The dress and other baubles and rouge he had bought himself, for a good bit of coin, saying that they were for his wife (an imaginary creature of course) and that one lie, sits uneasily in his belly. But it is the only true lie he’s told in this entire, secret affair, and so he asks nightly to be forgiven for it, and prays also that no one will grow curious of his behaviors and come asking questions. For if that happens, he will then have to lie many more times, and he truly does abhor the practice. 

And so twice yearly he goes to London, once in May, when the leaves and flowers are freshly sprouted, and the air is perfumed with the promise of warmer weather and growing things. And once in October, when the leaves turn burnished orange and yellow and fall to the ground, and the air sings with the sparking electricity of dying things. He goes to London with his special clothing, and goes to Mr. Williams’ very special place of business. 

It is a lovely October day in 1818 when he arrives in London for his latest visit. He goes first to his aunt Agnes’ house to call on her. He sits with her over tea and cake, listens patiently to her stories of her beloved cat, Bootsie, her new basil plant in the garden. He admires her knitting, and asks after her friend, Mrs. Carter, the elderly widow who lives next door. She asks after his school, his students, asks how the Honeyfoots are doing. It’s a pleasant visit, and as always, she praises him for being such an attentive nephew, visiting his old aunt like he does. He smiles and blushes and tells her that he will return on the morrow (for he always stays two weeks in London on his trips). 

For most of those two weeks, he spends some time in a few local book shops, discussing new arrivals, asking about ancient, dusty volumes no one else ever thinks to ask about. He absorbs himself in lengthy conversations with the shop owners, or the rare fellow patron who wishes to discuss literature, and makes daily trips to see his aunt. He eats his meals with Mr. Williams (and stays with him too when he’s in town), and they spend an enjoyable fortnight chatting and joking together Mr. William’s small kitchen. 

On the last three days of his trip, and the last three only, He sees clients in Mr. William’s shop. He saves these three nights for the end of his trip, and keeps it to only three nights each trip, for he cannot risk having more of a connection to the place, and, quite frankly, because three nights is quite enough to slake his lusts for a while. He waits until the last three, so that the memories of his times there will be fresher longer once he heads back to Yorkshire. 

This October, he arrives at the special clothing shop for the first of his three nights’ work at nine o’clock, and once Mr. Williams unlocks the door and lets him into the back hallway, he sets himself up in a special little room. A room in which there is a tall, wooden screen behind which he can change his clothing, and a small rack on which to hang them, out of the way of client’s eyes. There is a small vanity with a little mirror and a chair, in which he can sit to check his appearance and make himself pretty, a small wash basin, a small bedside table and a small bed. Also, a hat and coat stand behind the door for gentleman clients to hang their hats and coats. Those are the only furnishings, other than a lanturn, hung from a hook in the wall in the corner, that casts a dim gold glow about the deep red wallpaper and dark lacquer of the furniture. 

Once there, he removes his man’s clothing, his jacket, waistcoat, shirt, breeches, stockings shoes and any undergarments he has on (more in October than in May), and puts on the linen shift and red satin dress, the long black wig, and the bejeweled black mask. He paints his lips until they are a bright red colour, and puts just a little rouge on his nipples beneath the gown, for some clients wish him to undress and seem to enjoy this. He dons his wig and pins it carefully in place, so that it’s long, glossy black locks fall about his now scarlet draped shoulders. He puts on a necklace, made of red glass beads, and applies just a little bit of perfume (for he only has a very small bottle). It is scented with lilacs and some of his clients have remarked that they like it very much. A pair of black lace gloves complete the ensemble. There are no women’s shoes of his size, and so he goes barefoot. 

Once he is appropriately dressed and anointed, he waits for his first client. He does not wish to know who will walk through the door to visit him. He does not often say very much to these men, outside of a brief conversation on what they want from him and what he is willing to do. He will spend perhaps two or three hours at the brothel, and usually sees three clients a night (sometimes only one or two if he is not feeling very energetic… a real concern as he ages). 

He’s very well versed in the rhythms of his own body, and will not allow himself to spend his seed until the third client. This sometimes proves difficult as he becomes very aroused, but he’s grown quite skilled at holding off. And he doesn’t do this for money. Only for his own pleasure. The money he earns goes immediately into savings that he can use to purchase a new dress or new jewelry if he so needs it. He will not spend a penny of it on the upkeep of Starcross or on gifts for his friends or family. It is money best kept separate from his other life. 

His first two clients (sometimes repeat customers, sometimes new) have rarely ever complained that he does not reach his climax when he’s with them. They are there for their own pleasure, and if they particularly desire to watch a man spill his seed, why there are other men in other rooms that will happily oblige them. As for the one lucky man a night who does witness Segundus’ ‘final act’ as it were, he has received no complaints there either. It all works out quite well for him.

The first client this evening is a shy fellow. Perhaps thirty years of age, with light hair and blue eyes. A pretty fellow, with a nice smile, and Segundus likes him immediately. He wishes to kiss Segundus’ neck and rub himself against the velvet of the dress, which Segundus allows happily, but informs the man that he must finish him with his hand (or the man must finish himself off) into a towel, and not on the dress, for it cannot be stained. The young man happily agrees, and spends some very enjoyable time sucking and kissing Segundus’ neck and collarbone while he ruts against Segundus’ velvet covered thigh. It’s exciting, this simple, clumsy act, and Segundus feels himself swell beneath the soft material of his shift as the man’s hot lips and stiff movements continue. Once his client is close to his release, Segundus takes him in hand and strokes him swiftly, whispering praises and kind words in his ear as the man shudders and moans out his climax into the towel in Segundus’ other hand. 

Some quarter of an hour later and his second client arrives. He’s an older man, closer to Segundus' age, and soft spoken. He has large hands and kind eyes. He wishes to bugger Segundus, and this is also a thing Segundus enjoys very much. He brings out the little pot of salve that’s kept in a drawer in the vanity. The man is gentle as he uses two slicked fingers to open Segundus up. He is also gentle when he enters Segundus, sinking in slowly with a relieved sigh. The entire process has Segundus stiff and throbbing, but he holds back, gently removes the man’s hand when he obligingly reaches down to try and stroke Segundus as he buggers him. The man whispers, ‘My beautiful boy, my beautiful boy’ as he fucks Segundus with those big hands on Segundus’ hips, the skirts of the dress and chemise rucked up high above his waist. The man fucks him gently at first, and then with a bit more force, and places hot, messy kisses to Segundus neck after he’s carefully swept aside the fall of the wig. It’s very exciting, and feeling the man stiffen and pulse inside him as he reaches his pleasure has Segundus on edge. 

He and the man chat a little as the man dresses and prepares to leave. Segundus will do this sometimes, if a client is particularly kind and friendly. He’ll chat politely, ask the men about themselves if they are amenable. He cants his voice into a higher register, so that he sounds more feminine, and so he can further ensure his anonymity. He doesn’t reveal anything about himself, other than why he enjoys doing what he does, but sometimes, these men simply need someone to talk to, and Segundus is happy enough to provide this service, on the rare occasions it is required. 

Once his second client has gone home, Mr. Williams knocks politely. “Ma’am?” he asks, (for they all go by ‘Sir’ or ‘madam’ or ‘ma’am’ here, never by name. Segundus welcomes him in, for he has already cleaned up with water from the basin and reordered himself. “There’s a third gentleman here to see you ma’am,” Mr. Williams informs him. “I know it is rather late, and wanted to be sure you were up for seeing a third.” 

Segundus, who has not yet had the opportunity to reach his own pleasure, readily agrees, but tells Mr. Williams that this will be his last client of the night. Mr. Williams nods and disappears again, and Segundus takes a few quick moments to check his appearance and dab on a bit more perfume, a bit more rouge to his lips. 

It is while he is bent toward the mirror that his third client enters, and so his first sight of the man is through it’s reflective surface. At once he feels his heart begin to pound. He knows this man. Knows him fairly well. He has spent many an evening, talking with this man over books of magic. Has watched those dark eyes move across the words on the page, has heard that rough, deep voice recounting travels across the north of England. There, standing in his brothel bedroom is none other than John Childermass. 


	2. Chapter 2

Segundus swallows thickly as his heart speeds to what is surely a dangerous pace. Childermass is standing, coat on, hat in his hands, waiting patiently by the just-closed door. Segundus must turn and speak to him, but in this moment, he is so terrified of discovery that his voice has died in his throat. Instead, he holds a hand up, not turning from the mirror, a signal to ask Childermass to wait a moment, and he returns to fussing with his hair and jewelry. It’s all a show of course. Segundus needs just a few moments more to calm his speeding heart and think on what to do. 

He can’t refuse to see Childermass. Or rather, he could, but he’d need a good reason, and the refusal might be a larger tell to his true identity as anything else. He makes a minor adjustment to his mask, makes sure that the fall of the wig has flanked his face in a double curtain of dark hair, and turns slowly to face his client. Childermass has removed his greatcoat and hat and hung them up. He looks at Segundus, but it is clear by the curious yet unsurprised way his eyes flick over Segundus’ face and body that he does not recognize him.

“Hello sir,” Segundus says, in as high and as tremulous a voice as he can manage. He’s helped in this endeavor by the fact that he feels as if he might faint.

“Hello madam,” Childermass replies with a small nod of his head. “I trust you are well this evening.” And  _ oh _ , but that voice is so familiar. The warmth and depth of it make Segundus’ knees go weak, and he resists the urge to grip the back of the vanity chair to help keep himself standing. 

“I am, yes. And how may I help you this evening?” He must forge his way forward, must go through with the act. He must pretend that he does not know Childermass at all. That he hasn’t thought the things he’s thought. That he hasn’t wanted the things he’s wanted. That he is not the man he truly is beneath the red satin and the horsehair wig and jeweled black mask. 

His mind is racing, trying to remember Childermass’ last words to him. They’d seen one another a mere week ago, and yes… Now Segundus recalls that Childermass had said he would head south to London on business. Segundus had thankfully not told Childermass that he too would be headed to the same place. He’d prudently avoided bringing up that fact, for he did not like to welcome questions about his trips. And how was he to know that his … friend… yes, they were friends of a sort... that his new friend would come to this very place and be shown in to see Segundus of all people!

“I, well… I have not visited an establishment such as this in a long time,” Childermass says, looking unsure of where to put himself, shifting just a little from foot to foot. “I am unsure how one goes about… negotiating such things.”

Despite the havoc of anxiety playing about inside Segundus’ body, he is warmed by Childermass uncertainty. It is rare that he’s seen this man unsettled or unsure of himself. “Well, usually sir, you tell me what it is you’d like to do,” he offers. “I can help in that decision by telling you what I do  _ not  _ engage in,” he pauses, sees Childermass nod before continuing. “I do not kiss, mouth upon mouth, nor will I use my mouth to put it upon anyone’s member. I will engage happily in the act of buggery, and the act of rubbing together, fingering, playing a role, bondage, spankings, and most other sorts of things you could imagine. If I do not find such things amenable, I shall let you know, in no uncertain terms and we may continue to negotiate from there.” 

Childermass looks a little surprised at the thoroughness and directness with which this list is put forth, but it is a thing Segndus has said many times, and he’s said it with a brisk sort of confidence that deters argument. Childermass appears thoughtful for a moment before he speaks again. “I was hoping, if it were alright with you madam, that I could entertain myself by… watching.”

“Watching?” Segundus does not have to fake the tremor in his voice. 

“Yes madam. I wish to watch you. To watch you, while I…” he pauses, seeming suddenly shy. A fact that does nothing to assuage the nervous apprehension flooding Segundus’ senses. 

Through his nervousness though, comprehension dawns. “Oh! Watch! Yes, now I understand. Well, sir, that can easily be arranged. Would you prefer that I sit here and you upon the bed?” He tries his very best to inject as much femininity into his voice as possible. Prays that it will be enough to disguise his true identity. He and Childermass have had oh so many conversations together as of late… 

Childermass frowns a little, as if he’s unsure what it is he wants exactly, and Segundus takes this brief moment to let his eyes play over the man’s dark fall of ragged hair, the long, well shaped fingers that hang at his sides, his soft mouth... 

The thought of touching himself for Childermass’ amusement is cutting through his fear and making his cock stiffen. In a way, he’s very glad of this physical reaction, for a man in his line of work is not well served by a limp cock. But also, he is still trembling with nerves. His only true saving grace is that by visiting this brothel, and by requesting services from another man, Childermass has now sealed his own fate as well as Segundus’. Perhaps if he is found out, they will be able to keep each other’s secrets? 

Oh but Segundus cannot bear to be found out! How mortifying! To discover that the fellow magician you thought was a pleasant companion, a person with which to discuss books in the library at Starecross Hall, was also a painted, bejeweled prostitute, wearing a satin gown, in a secret brothel? How would Childermass react to such news? Segundus is certain that despite his own opinions on Childermass, that Childermass could not possibly want such secret, shameful things from Segundus. Not from Segundus the magician and Headmaster of Starecross School for Magic. A quiet man who rarely raises his voice. A man easily taken for a virginal bachelor.

After a longish moment spent in thought, Childermass speaks again, his voice tugging Segundus away from his desperate thoughts. “I think perhaps this first time, I would like to sit in the chair and watch you upon the bed madam.” 

_ This first time. Oh my. _

Segundus nods, walks over to the bed on wobbling legs and sits, dropping onto the mattress a bit more heavily than he’d intended. “Shall I remain seated? Shall I lie down?” he asks, his by now well worn questions on his client’s needs providing him some small solace to cling to in this surreal moment. “Or perhaps you would rather I stand…?”

“Sitting will be fine madam.” Childermass is so polite. So soft spoken. Segundus had not even known that his friend fancied the company of other men before now. To suddenly be confronted with this fact, to be confronted with Childermass himself, with his gentle eyes and soft voice and requests that Segundus touch himself? It is both a dream come true and his worst nightmare, mixed together, like sunshine breaking through a thunderstorm.

“Very well. May I begin?”

Childermass nods again, pulls the small vanity chair over to face the bed, but remains near the door, keeping his distance. This is reassuring. At that further vantage point, he’s less likely to recognize Segundus’ face or hands.  _ His hands _ . Oh  _ sweet Lord _ . Childermass knows Segundus’ hands well. They’ve spent too much time bent together over books and telling one another stories. And oh how Segundus speaks with his hands, moves them through the air as if he’s conducting music. Luckily, this evening, he has on a pair of lace gloves. They will hopefully obscure the shape and size of his hands to the degree that he might not be recognizable. 

Slowly, Segundus pulls up his shift and silk skirts to reveal his (now aching) cock. Childermass lets out a grunt, a small, soft noise, almost thoughtful, and Segundus swallows thickly and clears his throat before taking himself in hand. 

He cannot continue to look at Childermass. For he is too frightened of discovery. And also, because if he sees those dark eyes on him, watching him while he touches himself, he’ll spend far too quickly. He cannot count how many times he has thought of being alone with this man, of finding pleasure in his arms. And yet has never in a thousand years imagined this would be the way in which such a thing might play out.

It had started out slowly. As an uneasy acquaintanceship, born from necessity. They were the only two remaining practical magicians in England, thrown together by fate and bizarre circumstances. But, as Childermass, with Vinculus in tow, had returned again and again to Starecross Hall, to help with the construction of the school, and simply to rest for a few days between trips to this society or that, they had grown to know one another better. 

Segundus had been surprised to feel his apprehension surrounding Childermass melt slowly away, under the warmth of the man’s rare and crooked smile. They discover that they have much in common. A fierce love of magic. A strong work ethic. A taste for deep conversation and philosophical debate. After a few months of cautiously circling each other, they begin speaking more often and more openly. Segundus realizes that he’s looking forward to Childermass’ next visit. That even the (at first) unsettling addition of Vinculus has grown well worn and expected. He keeps two of Starecross’ many bedrooms vacant and ready should the pair drop by unannounced, and notes that his heart has started to race when he hears Brewer’s hooves clip clopping to the stable. 

Of course he desires Childermass. He may not have predicted that he would, based on their prior interactions, but he should have. He knows himself well, and Childermass is just the sort of man he usually ends up smitten for. Underneath the big battered hat and travel stained greatcoat, beneath Childermass’ cynicism and his well worn snark, below the armor he keeps wrapped around himself, lies a man of surprising depth and intellect. And humor. He makes Segundus laugh regularly now, with his clever observations and perceptive quips. 

It is several weeks after he realizes that he is smitten that he also eventually realizes that Childermass is beautiful. He isn’t the sort that strikes one as beautiful upon the first few viewings. It takes months of warm conversations and shared laughter for Segundus to see beneath that mess of black hair and the stubble on his chin and the pile of dark clothes he wears between September and April. He is a man who hides his true self in many ways.

But one evening, they are chatting together in the library. It’s late, and the students and other staff, the servants, have all gone to bed. The fire is crackling merrily in the hearth nearby, and it’s flickering light, along with the glow from the candles on the table between them, illuminate Childermass’ dark eyes and well shaped brows and the pleasingly sharp edge of his jaw. The light dances, soft and glowing on Childermass’ hair, and he smiles at Segundus, his face transformed by that sly, one sided grin. Segundus’ breath catches in his throat and he is struck speechless for a moment at the other man’s loveliness. 

How he had never noticed it before, he’s uncertain. But once he’s seen it, this dark beauty, he can’t unsee it. He sees it at night, behind his closed eyes when he tries to sleep. He sees it during the day, in his idle imaginations, and these thoughts make it harder to focus on his lesson plans. It is far easier to teach when Childermass is not staying at Starecross. Segundus is dismayed to find his focus wavering when he hears Childermass’ footstep in the hall, or overhears the low rumble of his voice as he scolds Vinculus, or speaks companionably to Charles. 

And now, Childermass sits before him, expectantly waiting for Segundus to touch himself. Only he’s not waiting for  _ Segundus _ . He’s waiting for a stranger, an aging molly boy, a harlot in a red dress. Regardless, there is something highly exciting in this interaction. Even if Childermass doesn’t know who it is he’s watching. Or maybe  _ because _ he doesn’t know. 

Segundus’ eyes flick quickly to Childermass’ face and find the other man’s dark gaze trained on his cock, on his hand around it, that sits still and unmoving. He flushes hot underneath the mask and the wig as he begins to stroke himself. He can’t look at Childermass’ face for long, and so his eyes settle on the man’s hands. They’re so very familiar to him. Broad yet long of finger. The nails, always a little uneven, always stained with ink from all his writings. He has callouses on his hands from holding Brewer’s reins, and Segundus can see the thick rope of a vein, like a blue snake across the back of one of them. He moans, thinking what those hands might feel like were they to touch him now. Now while he’s hot and stiff and ready. 

Childermass doesn’t speak. He shifts in his chair though, and one of his hands moves to press slowly against the front of his breeches, and Segundus gasps softly. Seeing evidence of Childermass’s desire, even subtly, is like a bolt of heat through his body. He increases his pace and moans again at the spark of lust this causes. Childermass’ eyes on him, seeing him without seeing him, has his arousal at a new level. His chest has begun to rise and fall a bit faster with this combined pleasure of his hand on himself and the knowledge that Childermass’ gaze is trained on him. He bites his lip and slows down a bit, drawing out his strokes, making the motions of his hand more of a teasing pressure than a race to the end. 

Childermass is breathing heavily. Segundus can hear this, but he sees it as well when he dares to rip his eyes away from the man’s hand where it is pressing rhythmically against his crotch and raise it a bit to look at Childermass’ belly and lower chest. He’s clearly very excited, and this knowledge makes Segundus slow his strokes even further, for fear he will spend too soon.

Then Childermass speaks, his voice low and dark in a way Segundus has never heard before. “Yes, like that,” he says. “Yes, slow, like that. Take your time.” And then, before Segundus has had a chance to properly recover from those few words, he speaks again. “May I? May I … join you?” he asks, and all Segundus can do is nod breathlessly. 

At first, he thinks Childermass means to ask if he can join Segundus on the bed, to come closer, touch him somehow, and a thrill of fear breaks through (perhaps bolsters?) the ever tightening twist of lust inside his belly. But Childermass does not move to leave the chair. Instead, he undoes his breeches and sneaks a hand inside. He withdraws the hand, pulling out his cock, thick and dark and swollen, and Segundus bites his lip and groans at the sight of it. Childermass groans back, as if they’ve passed something between them, and then his hand begins to move. 

Segundus must stop for a moment and grip at his base to stem the sudden tide of bliss he feels rising up. Childermass does not stop though. He lazily strokes himself, that calloused hand, so familiar to Segundus, moving over that dark, smooth flesh at an unhurried pace. 

“Does the sight of me excite you?” Childermass asks, breathless, yet somehow also calm and assured. He knows the answer, but he wants to hear Segundus say it.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Segundus gasps out, and it’s more a rough exhalation of breath than it is a word. “Yes it does. Very much,” he adds, because he wants Childermass to know this, this truth, that he is incredibly desirable to Segundus. He slowly begins to touch himself again, moving carefully, letting his fingers play over his tortured flesh in feather light strokes of his fingertips. Any more pressure than that and he’ll end himself for sure. 

Childermass is not careful, so much as he is taking his time. He strokes slowly, then a bit faster, until his breath hitches and his hips jut forward a little, and then he slows his hand again. Segundus wonders what part of himself Childermass is looking at now. Are his eyes roaming over Segundus’ heaving chest behind the red velvet of the gown’s bodice? Is he watching Segundus’ face, or are his eyes still trained on the motions of his hand? He risks a glance up and sees that yes, Childermass’ eyes have settled higher, at the base of his throat perhaps, and this is even more erotic than having the man’s gaze on his cock. He gasps and cannot help but give himself a few solid, real strokes. 

“Tell me how you feel,” Childermass says.

Why oh why must Childermass request that Segundus speak? It is one of the most telling things about him, his voice. Soft and high pitched even when he does not seek to modify it at all. Now, he pitches it even higher, which due to his heightened arousal, is not difficult. “I feel very hot, very hot indeed and very ready. I am on fire, I am twisted up with fire I feel… I feel…” He falters to a stop then, because he knows he must spill his seed soon. He’s built himself up with his first two clients, and now he has a living dream sitting before him. A man he’s lusted after for quite some time. His eyes are tightly trained on Childermass’ hand, and it’s movements. He gathers his senses, grips his base again for a moment to calm himself. “I am very close sir,” he tells Childermass. “Very close indeed. I shall soon reach my pleasure.”

“As will l,” Childermass says, in a low rasp. “I...will you...will you spend with me? Can you?”

“I can,” Segundus says, “I  _ can _ ,” he repeats, fervently, and hears Childermass let out a low moan. He watches Childermass’ hand as it picks up the pace. His other one is clenched against his leg, knuckles white.

Segundus waits and watches for a moment, transfixed. He knows all it will take will be a few swift strokes before he loses control, and so he must wait until Childermass is ready. Childermass’ hand moves faster, his breath, ragged and rough, breaks on another moan, and Segundus cannot help but respond with a helpless whimper. 

Childermass is close. Segundus can sense the pressure building, the knife’s edge growing sharper. He waits until he hears Childermass begin to gasp with the beginning of his crisis, and then he takes himself in hand. He makes sure to pull his skirts well and clear and delivers no more than four swift, short strokes to his cock, up close to the leaking head. This is all it takes to feel himself clench and then start to flood forth in a heady rush of pleasure. 

He sees Childermass convulse and spill hot seed over his pumping hand, letting out a series of harsh gasps as he does, and the sight and sound of it makes his own climax somehow even better, deeper, more profound.

Segundus has his other hand behind him, pressed into the mattress to prop himself up, for if he does not do so, he is certain he will keel over with how weak he is in the aftermath. He hangs from his shoulder joint, gasping, wrung out and still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. 

Childermass is coming down the other side of his climax, panting, gripping at his leg with his other hand. His strokes slow and cease and he merely sits and gasps for air. 


	3. Chapter 3

Neither of them speak for several long moments, and Segundus has let his eyes slide away from Childermass’ flushed face. He’s certain that if he continues to look at the other man, at his stunned, glowing beauty that he’ll lose his senses. 

Eventually, when he has the strength, he leans over to the small bedside table and grabs a folded towel and tosses it to Childermass. The man nods his gratitude and begins to wipe himself clean. Segundus staggers to his feet, still holding the skirts of his chemise and dress clear of the mess he’s made, and takes up his own towel. He turns his back to Childermass and busies himself with cleaning off his hand and thighs by the wash basin. 

Behind him, he hears Childermass doing himself back up and standing. “I would like to see you again tomorrow night madam,” He says, and his voice is calm, even, relaxed. The sound of it sends shivers down Segundus’ spine.

“Certainly,” he responds, unable to say no. How can he say no?

“Is this same time amenable to you?” Childermass asks. 

“It is sir.” 

“Very well. Good evening madam.” And then he hears Childermass stand, take up his coat and leave, closing the door softly behind him. 

Segundus lets out a long breath, feeling apprehension and joy both. It is late by this point, past midnight. The last of the evening’s clients are making their way to the front of the shop, where they will pay Mr. Williams, who will then dole out the prostitutes’ share to them as they leave. He takes a modest percentage for himself, but there is still plenty of coin left over for the men in their secret rooms. 

This is a brothel that caters to a discerning gentleman with enough money to pay for security and comfort, and Mr. Williams compensates his workers well. Several of the prostitutes in his employ do this for the sake of their own enjoyment (or so he confides in Segundus when they talk in the evenings). It is an exciting way to be allowed to indulge in their secret desires. Some are older molly boys, who grew tired of the slaps and mistreatment and poor compensation and found their way to Mr. William’s door through word of mouth, their experience and skill at the work they do still draw clientele. And yes of course, some of them use the money to pay the rent and buy food for their bellies. Segundus does not speak to the other men and only learns of these things from speaking to Mr. Williams. His friend’s brothel is safe and convenient, but it is not a place to make friends. Only to indulge in sex for money.

Segundus takes his time cleaning up and getting dressed. He washes his face of the rouge and puts his men’s clothing back on, carefully puts the dress and mask and other lady’s things back into the small leather bag. He makes his way out to the hallway and then into the shop, where his friend is just closing up, drawing the shades and extinguishing the lamps about the place. 

“Jasper,” Segundus gets Mr. Williams’ attention with a soft touch to his arm. His friend turns to look at him expectantly. “The last client. The rough looking gentleman?” Mr. Williams nod’s his head in recognition. “I would, if possible, like for him to be my only client tomorrow. And the day after if he wishes to return a third time.”

Mr. Williams’ eyebrows lift in surprise, for it is not like Segundus to show too much preference for which clients he’ll see. If a man is kind and respectful, he will happily meet with them. “Is that so?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Segundus replies, feeling his face grow hot. “I… well… I know him. Though he does not recognize me. And let us just say that I… I have.. That is, I feel...”

“You need not explain, John,” Mr. Williams’ cuts him off with a warm smile. “If you wish him to be your only client then I shall cancel your others. Or see if they prefer another of the men. It is no hardship.” Segundus grins back at him, grateful and fond. 

“Thank you Jasper. You are a marvel,” he leans in and delivers a small kiss to Mr. William’s cheek and gives his arm a squeeze. “I shall be late tomorrow then, for he is to meet me here at 11.”

“Till tomorrow,” Mr. Williams nods and gives Segundus another smile. “If I do not see you when I get home, I shall see you in the morning,” he says, before turning away to continue closing up the shop. 

Segundus steps out onto the street and makes his way to Mr. William’s residence with a spring in his step. He feels ten years younger, and like he’s just woken from a deep sleep, refreshed and alert. He finds himself humming a happy little tune as he walks. 

He arrives at Mr. Williams’ small, slightly ramshackle house, lets himself in with his own key, and quickly readies himself for bed. He eats a hurried, late night supper of cheese and bread and then reads by candlelight for a few moments before he hears the front door open and close to admit his host. Mr. Williams bustles his way about in the kitchen for a little while, before he pokes his head in to say goodnight to Segundus. 

Eventually, Segundus realizes that he can’t focus on his reading, for his thoughts return again and again to the events of the evening. He thinks of Childermass hand on his cock, of Childermass gruff voice saying those devastating things, asking him questions. He cannot stop thinking of how it looked, what it sounded like to witness Childermass’ climax. He feels himself stiffening beneath the bed covers, but ignores his burgeoning erection. He can touch himself any evening, at any time. It is far better to hold off and save that wild, hot energy for his next appointment with Childermass. 

Yes, he is afraid that he’ll be recognized. That fear skitters across the surface of his lust, but isn’t strong enough to cool it. Childermass gave no indication that he knows who Segundus is. And why would he? Not only was Segundus dressed head to toe in women’s clothing, his face half covered by a mask, his lips rouged and voice disguised, but his situation and appearance are so very far from his other life as to be incomprehensible. How would Childermass guess that the soft spoken Headmaster of Starecross School for Magic is a made up prostitute in a back room brothel in London? He may find Segundus somehow familiar (a thought which thrills him to the core), but he is unlikely to make the connection. If Segundus is careful, acts his part well enough, Childermass doesn’t have to know. 

He feels a stab of guilt at the blatentness of his deception. Perhaps Childermass would be shocked and concerned by finding out that the man he is visiting for sexual release is in fact a friend in another part of his life entirely. Would he be unsettled? Upset? Repulsed? Segundus hopes fervently that this is not the case. Childermass is so kind to him, they’ve shared so much in the way of good conversation. He smiles often at Segundus and treats him with respect. He likes to think Childermass would not be too upset to learn that the man he has been doing such things with is Starecross School’s Headmaster. 

_ Or are you believing that out of convenience, because you desire him? _ His conscience perks up irritatingly, and he feels his pang of guilt deepen. Eventually he pushes it aside. If Childermass never finds out, then no harm has been done. And surely, with some care and cleverness, he can prevent his friend from ever discovering his secret.

He is unsure what will happen in the future. Will Childermass visit him again in the spring? Will he return to Mr. Williams’ shop to see other men on other trips to London, when Segundus is not there? The thought makes Segundus distinctly uncomfortable. Already, he has no desire to see anyone else. The thought of being with other men is becoming unpleasant, and this confuses him further. He’s never considered himself to be particularly drawn to monogamy. Relationships lasting longer than a few heated trysts in a secret bed somewhere don’t flourish well when one’s preferences are considered immoral and illegal. He’s always thought it better to enjoy himself, give kindness and pleasure and take some in return and then… to simply move on. But Childermass is swiftly making him want something more. And even after only one liaison. And they had not even touched yet!

If he were smart, he would cut his trip short and head north. Beat Childermass back to Yorkshire and settle in at Starecross. Leave this whole confusing, sordid business behind. But then… what if Childermass returns to Mr. Williams’ establishment and finds out that his requested companion for the evening is gone? What if Childermass then returns to Starecross only to find that Mr. Segundus came home early from his biannual trip? He knows Honeyfoot will remark plainly and openly (and frequently) on Segundus’ early return. He’s a man who likes exclaiming over the simplest things. A dear man and friend, but not the best person to have around if one is trying to keep a secret. 

And regardless, now that Segundus has had a taste of what it is like to watch Childermass come apart in front of him, he knows he is unable to resist. He must have more. He must see Childermass again. This intimacy between them, even if it is secretive and hidden, has broken through some barrier he’d built up inside his heart, and now he is weak and helpless in the aftermath of its destruction.

He puts his book aside and blows out his candle and settles down in bed to sleep. It takes him a long time to drift off. When he finally does, he dreams of wandering the hallways of Starecross, wearing his red dress, standing still, breath held in dark corners and ducking into vacant rooms to hide from prying eyes. 

He wakes early the next day and stops at the local bakery to pick up some of his aunt’s favorite poppy seed bread for their breakfast. He has a lovely visit with her, sharing tea and buttered poppy seed toast and soft boiled eggs while she tells him all about Mrs. Carter’s nephew, and how he will be attending Oxford university soon, and how her neighbor on the other side, Mr. Watkins, snores so loudly that she can hear it through her own bedroom walls. Segundus tells her of his plans for the day, how he wishes to visit the local bookshops and about his conversations with Mr. Williams. He tells her he is considering planting some basil in the garden in Starecross and asks her how her plants stay so vibrant and healthy. 

An hour or so later, he bids her good day and heads to a second hand bookshop down a side street that he’s wanted to visit for some time now. The last time he’d been there was before the return of magic to England, and he wonders if there are any new books that might have made an appearance, might have filtered out from hidey holes that neither Norrell nor Childermass had ferreted out before Norrell’s exit from the natural world. He spends some enjoyable time, perusing the shelves. Finds a copy of  _ English Magic  _ by Jeremy Tott, but they already have a copy at Starecross, and it is in better condition. He sees a similar copy of Belasis’  _ Instructions _ , and contemplates purchasing it, for it would be good to have a second copy in the library. 

He hears the door to the shop jingle open and thinks nothing of it, until the shop owner asks if he can help the new customer, and he hears a far too familiar voice say “no thank you sir.” 

It is Childermass’ voice, and Segundus feels his entire body go hot, then cold. He ducks behind the end of a shelf and hears heavy footfalls approaching from the front of the shop. What is he to do? Perhaps he can sneak out before Childermass sees him. It is a small shop, but there are several rows of rickety old bookshelves to hide behind. If he times it right, he can escape without being detected. 

“Mr. Segundus?” He whips around to see Childermass standing not five feet away, staring at him in surprise. Drat! He’s caught, like a rabbit in a snare. Apparently his skills at hiding have not improved much since playing games of Sardines as a boy. 

“Mr. Childermass!” He exclaims. What a pleasant surprise! I did not know you were coming to London!” This was not technically a lie, being that he really  _ had _ been surprised by Childermass’ appearance last night. He swiftly smooths down his hair and tugs his waistcoat into place, trying to ignore the havoc Childermass’ face is causing to his heart and lungs. 

“Hello Mr. Segundus. I did not realize you had made the trip south either. I thought you were back at Starecross Hall.” 

“Oh, yes, well, I take a trip to London every few months to see my aunt and to peruse the bookshops… It is good to get away, and  Mrs. Worthington , my aunt, she.. she gets very lonely.” He is certain his heart will seize inside his chest and kill him dead with how fast it is beating. 

Childermass gives a small nod and a shadow of a grin flits across his face. He seems to believe Segundus, and why shouldn’t he? What cause would a man like Segundus have for concocting some story for why he is in London? 

“You are a good nephew indeed sir,” he says, leaning casually against the nearest bookshelf and crossing his arms over his chest. Segundus notes that a small slice of sunlight, coming in through the grimed up old windows of the shop, plays pleasingly in Childermass dark hair, turning it from ebony to chestnut. “I am here to speak to the London Society of Magicians about a visit we will make, Vinculus and I, once the weather grows warmer. They plan to invite members of Parliament to come and see my beguiling Book. As well as a number of experts on language. Hoping that perhaps they can make headway with translating Vinculus’ writing. I do not think it will do much good, but if they wish to try, I will accommodate them.”

“I am curious to see what they think of Vinculus,” Segundus replies, his nerves soothed a little by the warmth that usually accompanies their conversations. This is a Childermass he is far more familiar with. Friendly, thoughtful, wryly humorous. 

“Aye, watching proper gentlemen get their first look at Vinculus is among the great pleasures of my life,” Childermass replies, and Segundus cannot help but let out a little bark of surprised laughter. 

“Indeed sir, indeed,” he says, grinning broadly. “It is surely a thing to behold.”

“Will you join me for a mug of ale?” Childermass asks, and Segundus feels his stomach twist with nerves. 

“I, I w-would normally say yes,” he stammers out, “but I have an appointment to keep with a dear friend. I will perhaps see you again if our paths cross before you return home.” He hates to put Childermass off, would love to spend more time in his company, (time spent not in a brothel that is), but he cannot risk giving the man too much of an opportunity to make connections. To perhaps notice the colour of his skin, and how it matches the skin of the man he saw last night. He cannot allow Childermass to notice the quality of his voice, and how it might sound familiar. He knows he cannot hide from him for the rest of their days, but he can’t bring himself to spend the afternoon with Childermass while Segundus wears his men’s clothes, then the evening with him, dressed in his womanly finery. It is too much deception. 

Childermass looks put out, which Segundus finds flattering in the extreme, but he only nods again, says a polite good day and saunters off down a nearby aisle. Segundus makes a hasty exit from the shop and rushes back to Mr. Williams’ place, feeling far too much like a mouse, running from a hungry cat. He spends the rest of his day reading, chatting with Mr. Williams, forcing down a small dinner (for his stomach is in knots). He is not sure how much longer he can take this tension, this battle between fear and desire, Childermass seeing him as two different people, for much longer. Perhaps Childermass’ lust will be slaked after tonight and he won’t wish to return for a third visit? The thought is both relieving and disappointing, which only serves to hammer home the dichotomy of Segundus’ conundrum.

Mr. Williams, being the dear friend that he is, does not bring up the subject of Segundus’ special client, and keeps their talk to pleasant things. He is free now, because a clerk minds the desk at the shop for the majority of the day, taking customer’s money and answering their questions about their wares (the clothing, not the prostitutes of course!). Then, as the evening comes on, Mr. Williams takes over and manages the flow of clientele that arrive for the secret hallway of rooms in the back. 

The shop is small and unremarkable on the outside, and men going in and out is not much noticed, as it is after all a men’s clothing shop. Any inquiries over why men enter during later hours of the evening is easily explained away by telling anyone who asks that there is a friendly game of cards that happens there of an evening. Mr. Williams’ shop only does it’s special business on three days out of the week. Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, and many men spend those evenings in drinking and relaxing with companions on those days. It does not attract much notice. 

As Mr. Williams is about to leave for the evening, Segundus screws up his courage and asks about Childermass. “What did he say to you, when he booked his appointment?” he asks, beyond curious as to how Childermass conducts himself in matters such as these. 

Mr. Williams thinks for a moment before replying. “He asked me if I had anyone on staff who was slight of build, with dark colouring,” he replies. Segundus feels his heart race at his friend’s words. “I told him I do have one such person employed by me, but that he prefers wearing the clothing of a lady, and asked if that would be a hindrance. Your gentleman friend replied that this was quite amenable to him, and so I booked him for your services. I hope I did not inconvenience you…” he trails off, looking expectantly at Segundus, who has by this point probably gone quite pink in the cheeks. 

“No, no, you did well. Thank you Jasper.” He doesn’t trust himself to say more. Mr. Williams leaves for the shop and Segundus is left alone with his swirling thoughts. He cannot let himself hope that Mr. Childermass had wished to spend the night with a man who resembles John Segundus. Why, many men are slight of build with dark hair. Mr. Levy would match that description. As would Lucas. Even the unsavory Christopher Drawlight was small with dark hair and eyes. It does not mean that Childermass was thinking of Segundus in particular. 

And yet… the possibility is there, and the very thought of it.. That Childermass would lust after Segundus and wish to be with someone like Segundus… it makes his skin flush with heat and his mind fill with images of a thoroughly filthy nature. 

He finds some way to distract himself until 10 o’clock when he takes up his little leather bag and walks to the shop. He goes very early, for he cannot risk running into Childermass anywhere near that establishment. He says a brief hello to Mr. Williams, and goes to his small room to get ready. He takes extra care with his appearance, making certain that his mask is firmly in place and that his long, horsehair wig is falling about his shoulders and flanking his face in straight black locks. He adds extra rouge to his lips, dabs on a bit of perfume and makes certain to put on his gloves. He then settles in to wait for Childermass. 

By the time the clock in the shop sounds dimly for the hour of 11, Segundus is a bundle of nervous jitters. The wait has him on edge, and his mind is filled with imaginings of what Childermass might want from him, underscored with fears of whether or not he will be recognized. Perhaps seeing Segundus earlier in the day had been a fatal clue that would reveal his true identity to Childermass?

He hears a knock on the door and nearly jumps out of his skin. “Enter!” he squeaks. 

Childermass sidles shyly into the room, hat in his hands and a hesitant smile on his face. “Good evening madam,” he says. 

“Good evening sir,” Segundus replies, hoping that his voice does not shake too badly. 

“How do you fair this evening madam?” Childermass asks as he removes his greatcoat and hangs it up. He removes his jacket next and hangs it over his greatcoat, and now he is standing in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, and Segundus is momentarily struck dumb. It’s rare that Childermass takes off his coat at Starecross. It only happens on unseasonably warm days, and Segundus remembers each one of these occasions with a sharp clarity born of desire. 

“I… I am doing well thank you,” he finally says, feeling like a fool as his cheeks grow hot. “And yourself? How are you, sir?”

“I cannot complain,” Childermass replies. 

They stand there for a moment, looking at each other, until Segundus drops his eyes and clears his throat nervously. “What is it that you would like this evening?” he asks. “More of the same? Or something different.” He wants to beg Childermass to touch him, to press those soft lips all over Segundus’ body, but that is not the behavior expected of him, and so he politely makes his inquiry and waits, heart pounding in his chest for Childermass to respond. 

“I had hoped….if it would be amenable to you madam, that I be allowed to.. How shall I say this…” Childermass pauses, seeming to become even more shy than he is already, and it occurs to Segundus that perhaps he is not all that accomplished at the art of seduction. This idea is a charming one, and he suppresses a fond smile. 

“I wondered if I might be allowed to...to put my mouth on you,” he finishes, and all thoughts of fondness are burned from Segundus’ mind in a torrent of lustful imaginings. 

He feels his knees buckle just a little and sits down on the bed to cover for his weakness. “That, that would be very agreeable to me.” He says, somehow finding the wherewithal for speech. 

“Ah, good then,” Childermass replies. 

“Shall I stay, sitting on the bed sir?” Segundus asks, already hardening beneath the satin skirts of his gown. He had not imagined that Childermass would want such a thing, and now he finds he cannot think of anything else, may never be able to think of anything else ever again. 

“That would likely be the simplest way,” Childermass responds, sounding quite rational and not at all like he’s just turned Segundus into a pillar of flame. “I only ask that I be allowed the use of one of your pillows, as my knees...well, they aren’t what they were twenty years ago.” 

Segundus lets out a small noise he hopes can be excused as polite agreement. He nods and swiftly reaches over to grasp one of the velvet pillows that adorn his small bed and offers it to Childermass. Childermass thanks him and places the pillow between Segundus’ now widespread feet on the floor, before lowering himself to kneel on it. He makes a soft grunt as he does this, likely the result of complaints from stiff joints. It is the same noise he makes when lowering himself into a chair in the library at Starecross after a long journey. 

Childermass looks up at Segundus, asking with his eyes if he may proceed, and Segundus answers him by pulling up his skirts with hands that tremble only a little, and leaning back on his elbows on the bed. His cock is stiff and throbbing now, straining, pink and ready above his belly. He looks at Childermass’ face and is stunned by the sight of the man’s lust blackened eyes and flushed cheeks. Childermass is staring intently at Segundus’ prick, with something like awe. He takes hold of it, gently by the base, and even that small touch has Segundus gasp, has his head fall back a little. He hears Childermass hum appreciatively, a small sound, perhaps a pleased acknowledgement of Segundus’ arousal.

Next, Childermass licks Segundus, long and slow from base to tip, and Segundus lets out a high pitched gasp, his head coming back up to watch what’s being done to him. He immediately regrets not taking himself in hand the night before. Holding off on giving himself that release was not a wise decision after all, as he feels his gut tighten already with the tingling promise of a climax that sits far too close upon his horizon. 

Childermass teases him for some long, very affecting moments, letting his lips and tongue caress Segundus’ shaft. His eyes are closed, and this allows Segundus to watch his face intently for a little while. The sight of it, of Childermass’ lashes brushing his flushed cheeks, his lovely mouth opening and closing as he kisses and tongues his way up and down Segundus’ aching prick, pulls a sharp moan from his throat. Childermass moans in response, and Segundus feels a surge of lust and juts his hips a little in anticipation.

Eventually, when Segundus is writhing and gasping on the bed, pressing his hips up and gripping his skirts in his fists, Childermass takes pity on him and sinks him into the wet heat of his mouth. He groans, deep in his chest as he does this, a sound of satisfaction, and Segundus answers him with a loud moan and a whispered “ _ Jesus Christ _ ,” as he feels that incredible, mobile heat envelop him. 

Childermass works him slowly, rising and falling at an unhurried pace, which nonetheless brings Segundus to the trembling, gasping edge of his pleasure after perhaps a half a dozen strokes. He tries to warn Childermass with gentle pats to his hair, with choked half-syllables, but is ignored. Segundus is left with no choice but to thrust up with his hips and explode in pleasure, shooting his spend into Childermass’ mouth as he cries out. 

When he next regains the ability to think, it’s to the feel of Childermass soft lips, kissing his thighs. The act is so tender, so caring that Segundus feels tears leap unbidden to his eyes. He sits up slowly, breathless and wrung out, and yet still wanting more. “I see that you have not yet achieved your goal sir,” he manages, looking down at the significant bulge in the front of Childermass’ breeches. “Would you wish to..to bugger me? To reach your pleasure in that fashion.”

“Oh Christ yes,” Childermass voice is a sandy rasp, low and needy and the sound of it makes Segundus wonder if perhaps he might be able to spill a second time tonight. 

He is about to ask what Childermass needs him to do, when the other man stands. He undoes his breeches and pushes them down before sitting down on the bed next to Segundus. He takes a quick moment to remove his waistcoat and pull his shirt over his head, exposing the soft, sparsely haired plane of his chest and slightly rounded belly to Segundus’ hungry eyes. He indicates that he wishes Segundus to sit in his lap and helps him to clamber into position, straddling Childermass with knees on either side of his hips. Segundus’ cock, still soft but beginning to show signs of renewed interest, is pressed against Childermass’ warm belly, while Childermass’ cock, stiff and hot, settles in the cleft of Segundus arse. He bucks back against it a little and Childermass makes a choked sound in response.

In this new position he is suddenly face to face with Childermas, seated in his lap, arms draped about his shoulders. For a moment, they look into each other’s eyes. Unable to bear the scrutiny of Childermass’ gaze in such close quarters, Segundus lets his eyes wander down to Childermass’ gently open mouth. He is consumed with an urge to kiss the other man. He feels it, this pull from Childermass. He could so easily press their mouths together, stated boundaries be damned. A swift glance back up at Childermass’ eyes and Segundus finds them trained on his mouth as well, and he knows Childermass is thinking the same thing. 

Needing to break the tension, he takes in a sharp breath and leans to the side, grabbing his pot of salve and offering it to Childermass. But Childermass only takes it and puts it beside them on the bed. “I prefer to do this sort of thing when my partner is excited for it, and you madam, are not ready yet.” Segundus isn’t certain what to say to that. He doesn’t have to speak however, he can’t speak, because Childermass grips him by the waist and leans in to lathe his tongue across the sensitive front of Segundus’ throat, just above the beaded necklace he wears. He gasps at the sensation and presses his chest and neck forward, arching against Childermass’ hot tongue. 

One of Childermass’ hands travels south to grip Segundus’ buttock, and the other thumbs at a nipple through the material of his dress. Segundus gasps again, and hears Childermass moan against his throat. To his own surprise, he feels himself growing swiftly erect between their bellies. This is unusual, and for a man in his mid forties, mere minutes after his first climax, is almost unheard of. 

“That’s it,” Childermass murmurs against his neck. His thumb, lazily rubbing over Segundus’ nipple, causing sparks of pleasure jolting to the tip of his cock. “That’s lovely. You’re beautiful.” Segundus moans and squirms in Childermass’ arms. He feels Childermass’ fingertips teasing at the edge of his buttock, and just that subtle promise of more direct contact has him shivering and stiff within moments. 

Childermass keeps up with sucking and kissing and licking at Segundus’ neck, playing with his nipples and gently teasing at the cleft of Segundus’ buttocks until he is rubbing himself desperately against Childermass’ belly and whimpering with lust. Only then does he reach for the pot of salve and slick two fingers. He reaches underneath their bodies and teases at Segundus’ opening, slipping in a fingertip, then sliding in to his knuckle. They both moan at the feel of that tender breach. 

Segundus is well used to the act of buggery and so it does not take long for Childrmass to make him ready with a few slow pumps of his slicked fingers. Segundus feels Childermass’ hands on his arse, assisting him as he raises himself on his knees. Childermass lines them up with each other then eases himself inside, and Segundus lets out a full throated cry at the feel of that first penetration. A voice, rough, low and breathless is immediately at his ear. “Are you well madam? Is there pain?”

Segundus, almost past the point of speech, shakes his head. “No,” he replies panting, swallowing hard. “It is good. You cannot hurt me.” He illustrates his words by rolling his hips, sliding down slowly until he is fully seated, and hears Childermass let out a strangled noise, followed by a moan. 

The man’s hands on his arse tighten, and Childermass thrusts up into Segundus a little, pulling twin gasps from them both. Childermass begins to fuck him, from below, slowly. Segundus clings to him, presses the underside of his chin to the top of Childermass’ head. He buries his hands in Childermass’ surprisingly soft hair and lets himself be moved to Childermass’ liking. 

He is gone, lost, obliterated by this feeling. Their bodies are so close, the heat between them increasing by the second. Childermass’ smell is warm and musky and so familiar, of pipe smoke and book paper and saddle leather, and a hint of Segundus’ own spend on his breath as it gusts hotly from his mouth to break against Segundus’ neck. Segundus pushes his nose into the wild tangle of Childermass’ hair and breathes deeply. Beneath him, Childermass shudders and moans, and Segundus can feel the vibrations of the other man’s voice against his chest. 

He hears a keening sound, a rasping, high pitched sighing noise and realizes it’s coming from his own throat. He’s so aroused that he can’t think straight. Can’t recognize his own voice. And it isn’t just arousal. Yes, his cock has swelled again to full tumescence, stiff between their bellies as they move together, but this is not only about sexual congress. He had never thought that he could touch Childermass this way, be this close and intimate, hear Childermass’ sounds, smell his sweat. It is an intimacy he’s never before dreamed of. He wishes that there were no clothing between them, that they were in a private bed somewhere, not in a brothel, that no money was involved.

Childermass has stopped moving and is speaking, and after a few seconds of dazedly jerking his hips from pure, lustful momentum he realizes it is a request that they move. Childermass wishes to lie down and to let Segundus continue to ride him in more comfort, as they are now laid wrong ways across the bed. After a moment of clumsy readjustment, during which Segundus finds himself lifted bodily and moved along with Childermass, the other man repositions himself so that his head is on the pillow. Immediately they resume, and at the first roll of Segundus’ hips atop him, Childermass cries out harshly.

Childermass runs his hands up Segundus’ thighs, pushing the red skirts with them, until his hands are again on Segundus’ hips, helping him move. Childermass is looking up at him, that expression of awe still painted across his features, and Segundus cannot look away, is glad of the mask to hide what his face and eyes are really doing, how he is devouring Childermass. How he looks besotted and stunned by their congress. 

“You’re a beauty you are,” Childermass rasps out, reaching up to stroke his hand down the front of Segundus’ chest to his belly, over the bodice of the gown. “A real beauty. And delicate, and kind. You.. you remind me..” and Segundus works his hips a bit harder and faster and whatever Childermass was about to say is lost as he sucks in a great gasp of air and lets out a growl. He grabs Segundus by the hips and fucks up into him from below. Their sex suddenly becomes rough and urgent, a desperate rutting of bodies against each other, and Segundus feels as if he’s coming apart at the seams. Like he’ll fall apart, and pieces of him will tumble to the floor around the bed. 

He throws his head back and cries out with every rough jut from beneath him, feeling sparks of pleasure at every percussive act of Childermass’ hips. His cock is as hard as stone and this doesn’t escape Childermass’ notice, for he slows them down with his hands on Segundus’ buttocks, then reaches to stroke Segundus, impatiently flipping the velvet skirts aside to do so. 

For a few moments, they make their dance a slow one. Segundus executes almost glacial rolls of his hips and Childermass ceases his thrusts and lays still and simply watches as Segundus works himself on his cock while Childermass strokes him deliberately with his hand. 

Childermass leans up, reaches up and brushes his thumb against Segundus’ rouged lip. “Such a lovely mouth,” he says, and Segundus wants very much to lean over and kiss him. He can’t, and so instead he sucks Childermass’ thumb into his mouth, takes it in deep and sucks it like a small cock, lathing the underside with his tongue. Childermass lets out a rough gasp at this. His hips buck up again and then his head falls back and his thumb slips from Segundus’ mouth in the process, leaving a wet trail of spittle and smearing the rouge down Segundus’ chin. 

“I’ll finish soon. You are too beautiful, too hot. I’ll finish soon,” Childermass says, and his voice is dark and breathless. He drives himself deep and throws his head back, shutting his eyes and letting out a moan, as he does so, he strokes Segundus fast and thorough. “Ah, fuck, Jesus,” he grits out and Segundus can feel himself slicken with Childermass’ spent seed as the man shudders through his peak. He keeps stroking Segundus as he spends, and Segundus feels himself crest and spill a moment later, sobbing and rocking atop Childermass’ cock. 

As Segundus comes back to himself, heedless of the state of his gown, he falls forward into Childermass’ arms and is embraced. He rests his head against Childermass’ shoulder, aching with the urge to kiss him, unable to kiss him. They are both sweating and panting and Segundus is stunned at the way he feels. Wrung out, tingling with just-spent pleasure, full of warmth and affection. He knows what they’ve just done is no unfeeling fuck between a prostitute and client. This was more than just a release of pent up tension or a day’s work. He knows Childermass feels that too, in the slow, soft way the other man’s hands are stroking at his back, pulling him closer, cradling him against Childermass’ chest. 

What has he done? What has started out as an erotic jaunt has become something deeper and more meaningful than he’d intended. He knows a person says a lot by the way they practice coitus. And what he and Childermass are saying to each other with their bodies is something difficult to hide behind the casual exchange of pleasure they are supposed to be acting out here.


	4. Chapter 4

After some long minutes, during which they lay together, catching their breath, Segundus pulls himself regretfully out of Childermass’ arms and clambers off the bed with all the grace of a newborn calf. He stumbles over to the basin, tosses a towel to Childermass and begins the process of cleaning himself up. 

“That was… madam...that was…” Childermass is apparently struggling with speech in the aftermath. 

“Yes, well, I’m certainly glad you enjoyed yourself,” Segundus replies, keeping his voice light and high and striving to hide his true feelings. That they’d just shared the most profoundly moving sexual experience of his life. 

“And you madam? Did you enjoy yourself? You certainly seemed to.” There is a hint of cynicism in his voice. He knows Segundus is making light of it, of their startlingly strong pleasure and shared intimacy. He is testing the waters, probing gently, and Segundus feels a stab of apprehension. 

“Of course sir. It was quite enjoyable,” his voice is still light, unconcerned, practiced, but with a tremor underneath that he fears betrays some of his inner turmoil. 

“I wish to see your face,” Childermass says, and Segundus freezes, hand poised above the basin, damp towel dripping water. “I will not insist if such a thing is not to your liking,” he continues. “But you remind me of someone. Someone who’s become quite dear to me, and I think it best, for my own sanity, if I prove to myself that you are not this person.” 

Segundus takes a deep, shaking breath in. “Unless this person you speak of is a whore in a wig and a mask, then no, you may not see my face,” he replies, more sharply than he intends, but fear has made him a little desperate. He cannot lie to Childermass. Not with his words. But he also cannot bear the thought of being found out, in this vulnerable moment, with Childermass’ spend slicking his thighs and the smell of him all over Segundus’ body. 

Beyond that, he is certain it is not Segundus who is the one Childermass speaks of. The one who has ‘become dear’ to him. Why would a raven ever look twice at a drab little sparrow?

Childermass lets out a sigh. “That is a pity,” he remarks, and Segundus hears movement behind him, as Childermass gets up from the bed and goes to collect his jacket and coat. “I will of course respect your privacy madam.” There is a brief pause. “May I see you again, tomorrow night?” he asks.

“Yes,” Segundus does not even hesitate. “Yes, of course,” he says, for he is incapable of refusing.

“Good. Then I will return at 11 as I have these last two nights. Until then madam,” and he leaves. As the door clicks shut behind him, Segundus feels all the confusion and fear and longing inside him well up and his shoulders hitch with barely suppressed sobs. He has a good long cry, silently, into hands that still smell of Childermass, feeling sorry for himself. Sorry that he has lied to Childermass, perhaps not with his words, but with every other part of himself. He’s led them both down a path of deception and secrecy. 

How could this person he reminds Childermass of be dull, quiet Segundus? How shocked and dismayed will Childermass be to discover that this whore he has been paying for favors is also his friend from Starecross Hall? How will they move past the acute discomfort of that realization to ever again be at ease in each other’s presence? Perhaps by putting on this facade, he has even dealt a significant blow against the reestablishment of English magic. He and Childermass work together so very often on this, their most cherished shared interest. What if Childermass discovers his identity and can no longer bear to look at Segundus? What then?

When Childermass had asked to see Segundus’ face, he had asked for the deception between them to be removed, and Segundus had refused him. He is certain that this is just as bad as lying… refusing to tell the truth. 

He thinks perhaps it is time that he stopped making his trips to London. They are dangerous, and time consuming. They take him away from Starecross Hall, from the students, and the cause of bringing magic back to its rightful place, and he cannot imagine continuing this ruse past tomorrow night. He should have refused Childermass’ request to see him again, but not only is he sure this would be more telling than saying yes, he also finds that he cannot say no. He is fully besotted with Childermass, and if the man wants to see him again, to touch him, and say such lovely things, to pull such pleasure from him, how is he to say no? 

After he wears himself out a bit with crying, he cleans himself up properly and dresses. By the time he exits his room, after putting the soiled linens in a pile on the floor and straightening the bed, everyone else has already left. Mr. Williams, dear Jasper, takes one look at Segundus’ tearstained face and demands to know what happened. 

“That friend of yours, did he cause you harm? If he’s done so, then I have an iron poker with his name on it,” Mr. Williams’ eyes are fierce. 

Segundus shakes his head and puts a hand on his friend’s arm to calm him. “No, he was a perfect gentleman. It is only that… he does not know who I am, and that is causing me great pain this evening.” 

“Why not tell him?” Mr. Williams’ asks, his voice careful. “What have you to lose? He is here, engaging in the same acts as you. He can’t very well take a moral high ground can he?”

“I cannot tell him,” Segundus sighs and looks down at his feet. “He thinks of me a certain way, and he would probably be greatly dismayed to discover that I am a … a… painted whore, to put it bluntly.”

“This is just my opinion, mind you,” Mr. Williams says as he blows out a lantern and continues to wipe down the countertop. “But from where I am standing, he seems to like painted whores just fine.”

Segundus smiles wanly at him. “Yes, but does he like timid Headmasters masquerading as painted whores.” He sighs again. “Thank you Jasper. You’re very kind. He has told me he wishes to see me again, tomorrow at 11, and so I’ll return again at around 10.” 

“Very well John. I will see you later. Sleep well.” 

Segundus gives Mr. Williams’ upper arm a squeeze and heads out into the night. He arrives back at Mr. Williams’ house, and then must spend some long moments, fastidiously scrubbing the stains from his gown in cold water from that morning’s wash basin. He hangs it across a chair back to dry, glad that the velvet does not show stains too badly, puts on his nightdress and crawls into bed. This time, he falls asleep quite quickly, for he is worn out from the excitements and stresses of the evening. 

In his dreams, he is climbing up a steep, grassy hill somewhere. Again, he is in his red velvet dress, his feet are bare and he is not wearing his wig or his mask. His head and face feel naked and horribly exposed without them, and he wonders if continuing to climb is a good idea, being that it will only make him more visible should he reach the top. 

He is tired in his dream, exhausted from climbing, but knows, for some reason that he must continue. Up and up he goes, worrying what he will find when he finally reaches the apex of the hill. His feet are sore, his back aches. The dress has begun to itch and chafe at his skin. He is miserable, he realizes. And he is miserable because of this silly dress he insists on wearing. He strips it off, pulls it and the sweat sodden chemise over his head and leaves them behind, continues climbing, naked and exposed.  _ It is better to be in my own skin than in someone else’s  _ he thinks as he puts one foot in front of the other, leans his weight forward to keep from falling, as the hill is very steep. 

He finally reaches the top and there is Childermass. He should feel ashamed of his nakedness, but instead he stands tall and proud. Lets Childermass see him, see his thin arms and legs, his pale skin, his plain and unadorned features. Let the man push him from the hill in disgust, or turn and walk away. But Childermass does none of this. He simply looks Segundus in the eyes and smiles a small smile. 

Segundus wakes to the sound of birdsong, and blinks away the foggy images of his dream. It is later than he wants it to be, half past ten. He is late for his visit to his aunt, and so he washes and dresses in a hurry. He arrives, a little out of breath and empty handed (he didn’t want to delay himself further by picking up pastries or a loaf from the local bakery), to find his aunt is not at all put out. “You must have needed the sleep,” she says, and invites him to sit and have a cup of tea and a scone, fresh out of the oven. 

He spends an enjoyable few hours in her company, and they are eventually joined by Mrs. Carter, who, while she is full of stories about her talented nephew, also recounts a humorous story about an escaped hen from her brother’s chicken coop that has Segundus giggling into his teacup. He bids the ladies adieu at around one in the afternoon and sets off to visit the new bookstore on Delancey Street. 

Luckily, he does not run into Childermass, though he does jump just a little whenever the shop door opens. He spends some calming hours in perusing the books in the shop, looking at battered old copies of novels and cook books. Some cookbooks are in fact books of magic in disguise, passed down from woman to woman, full of secret little spells for curing ills, soothing collicky babies and keeping mischief away from one’s door. He is always calmed by the presence of books, and at the end of another two hours, he is feeling more like himself. 

His thoughts return again and again to Childermass, and though he still feels apprehension and a lump of guilt sitting in his belly like a stone, he also feels a thrill of excited anticipation. What will Childermass want from him tonight? Will there be more soft touches? Or perhaps more rough, desperate sexual congress? He thinks back to the feel of Childermass’ hands on his hips. The wild abandon with which they’d worked themselves together, the sharp twist of bliss as he’d released into Childermass’ hot mouth, spilled over his pumping fist. He must take a few deep breaths to calm himself when he feels his cock twitch to life and begin to fill inside his breeches while in the back of the bookstore. 

He spends the rest of the day, shifting between arousal and worry, on this seesaw of emotion that he cannot escape. He longs for more time alone with Childermass, but also longs for an end to this trip. So that he can return to Starecross and take up his proper role as teacher and Headmaster. This trip has become far more than an enjoyable way to fulfill his unmet sexual needs. It has become a sword of Damocles, and he is weary of feeling the sharp tip of the truth dangling over his head. 

At last, the clock strikes 10, and he walks from Mr. Williams’ house to Mr. Williams’ shop. He nods to his friend and lets himself into the back hall so that he can ready himself for the evening. He puts on his chemise, dons his wig and mask and makes up his lips. He knows not what to expect from the evening, and it isn’t until he has waited for Childermass for quite some time, that he considers that perhaps Childermass is angry or disappointed with him. Perhaps he was put off by Segundus refusing to show his face, and has decided not to come. 

He hears raised voices, muffled yet unmistakable, from the front of the shop. One of the voices he can tell is Mr. Williams’, alarmed and angry. The other, he does not recognize. The men are arguing, and this is never a good sign, for at this late hour, it is unlikely to be about the price of silk cravats. He hears the startling sound of a fist landing against flesh and a male voice, he thinks it is Mr. Williams’ voice, crying out in pain. He hears a clatter and a thud and then boot steps head toward the door to the back rooms. 

Segundus feels a thrill of fear as the footsteps approach his door, and he backs away from it, preparing for a fight. There is nothing nearby with which to defend himself.  _ Stupid, stupid. _ He should have thought of this eventuality. He’s grown far too complacent! 

The door is swung open, and a giant of a man, face red, teeth bared in a rictus of anger strides into the room. He stops short at seeing Segundus, who is by now, standing uncertainly, trembling with fear by the bed, hands clutched in front of his chest. 

“There you are!” exclaims the man, and Segundus can smell gin coming off him in sickening waves. It’s clear he’s drunk from the bleariness of his eyes and the slur in his voice. “You were to see me at nine o’clock, and that idiot turned me away!” He sways a bit on his feet and Segundus takes a step back. “Well, I’m not having it!” The man says, advancing on Segundus, grabbing him roughly by the upper arm. “I came here to spend my hard earned coin and I demand that you see me now!” 

Segundus, half terrified, half enraged, tries to wrench his arm from the man’s grasp, only to be shaken and pulled closer. He winces as the man’s alcohol drenched breath gusts over his face, hot and damp and unpleasant. “See here!” he protests, summoning his courage. “You’ve no right to come barging in and demanding service. Unhand me at once!” He pulls back a gloved hand and slaps the man across the face. He is never prone to violence, but his heart is pounding and his blood is up, and he’s terrified of this man’s forceful handling of him. He only wants to surprise him, perhaps to shame him into letting Segundus go. 

But the man doesn’t let go. Segundus’ slap seems only to inflame his rage. He growls, pulls back his arm and then backhands Segundus across the face, striking his right eye. Segundus, stunned and in pain, falls to the floor, his mask snaps in two and falls from his face, and his wig is knocked half off his head as he drops to knees. The brute towering over him starts to say something, but whatever it is, it is cut off abruptly as he’s jerked backwards. 

Segundus looks up to see the man’s face transformed by an expression of utter surprise as he’s spun around and hit, quite squarely in the jaw by a swift punch. Childermass is there, in a swirl of shadows, the folds of his greatcoat making him look like some sort of fae creature. His eyes are sharp and full of cold fury as he delivers a second sharp jab to the man’s eye and the man drops, falling to the floor like a felled tree with a mighty crash. He hits the bed on his way down, pushing it a few feet across the floorboards, then lays flat on his back, knocked unconscious. 

Segundus looks up and his eyes meet Childermass’ and he sees the look of shock flit across Childermass’ face. Childermass sways upon his feet, seeming physically rocked by the realization, before he opens his mouth to speak. 

“Mr. Segundus,” he says, his voice so soft that Segundus wonders if perhaps he’s imagined it.

And then Mr. Williams is in the doorway with a poker in his hands, looking roughed up and fiercely protective, and Childermass mercifully looks away as the two exchange a few words. Segundus scrambles to his feet and picks up the ruined mask, pressing it to his face, turning his back. He cannot breathe, he cannot think. He only wants Childermass to leave. 

“Are you alright?” Childermass’ soft voice is at his side. A gentle hand is placed on his back, but he jerks away from the touch.

“Please just leave!” he cries out, keeping his face turned away, tears now running down his cheeks beneath the cracked and broken halves of the mask he struggles to hold together with shaking hands. 

Childermass’ hand is removed, and the warmth of his body moves away. Segundus hears the two men confer briefly and then grunt as they pick up and carry the belligerent client from Segundus’ room and out into the hall. Segundus does not dare to turn around until the sound of footsteps have receded, muffled as the men exit the back hall and walk through the shop. 

He rushes to shut and lock his door and then hurries to dress in his men’s clothing again. He must escape this room, must flee, and he cannot do that dressed as a woman. He scrubs wildly at his face with a damp towel and finishes dressing in his breeches and shirt, waistcoat and neckcloth in a mad rush, before he carefully pokes his head out of the door and into the hall. The place is silent. Two of the other men have also peaked their heads out to see what’s happened, and Segundus assures them that the situation is well in hand. He tiptoes to the door of the shop, and finds it empty. Perhaps Mr. Williams and Childermass have decided to deposit the surly, unconscious man a few streets over. 

Segundus rushes through the store and off into the night. 


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Williams returns home an hour or so later to find Segundus sitting at the kitchen table, cup of cold tea in his hands, staring into the candle’s flame. He hasn’t had the energy to do much else since he washed his face and made the tea. 

Without a word, Mr. Williams stokes up the fire, lights another candle and rummages around behind Segundus in the kitchen for a moment. Segundus hears a bottle uncork and liquid being poured. Mr. Williams comes to the table and sits in the chair next to Segundus, bringing a bowl with him. It’s filled with cold water and whiskey, by the smell of it. 

Mr. Williams dips a cloth in the water and whisky mixture and squeezes off the excess, then with a glance up at Segundus to gain his permission, he dabs lightly at the sore patch above his right eye that is surely swollen and red. By tomorrow, it will start to turn dark blue, a badge of shame to all who see him, that he was involved in some sort of violent confrontation. 

Mr. Williams’ touch is gentle and caring. He doesn’t speak, lets Segundus have his silence, but cleans the area and then offers the cloth, re-wetted and folded into a rough square, for Segundus to press to his eye. 

He moves to leave, but Segundus reaches out and grabs his hand, keeping him from standing. “Thank you Jasper. You are a dear friend,” he says. “I have been a fool,” he adds with a sigh. 

“You have not,” Jasper replies, relaxing back into his seat again. “This has all been my fault. The man looked very put out indeed when I told him he could not see you. He didn’t want any of the other available men, and he left in a huff. I should have investigated him more thoroughly. I should have seen that he had that anger, that love of drink. I should have-”

Segundus forestalls his apology with a shake of his head and a squeeze to his friends hand. “You could not have known. You are not a soothsayer, Jasper. You did your best, and we are all better for what insight and good sense you do bring to the business. Without you, many of those men would be selling their wares on the street, or beholden to some horrible master who beats or misuses them. I am glad it was only I who saw any ill treatment in this affair. I am only here for my own selfish enjoyment. I do not need this work to keep food on the table.” 

“Still…” Jasper hesitates, his eyes holding Segundus’, full of regret. “I should have done better.”

“What did you do with the man?” Segundus asks, suddenly curious. 

“Your friend and I, we carried him a few streets over and deposited him in a brackish puddle. He shan’t come back I think. Not after the seeing to he received from Mr. Childermass.” 

Hearing Childermass’ name makes Segundus flinch a little, and Jasper sees this. 

“He did not say anything of your identity,” he offers. “He did not seem upset. Only taken aback. I am certain all will shake out well in the end, John. Have faith.”

“Oh Jasper!” Segundus feels wretched. “I may have ruined our working relationship, Mr. Childermass and I. And what’s almost worse, I have surely ruined our friendship! How can he possibly forgive me for the deception I have engineered? For the lies I have… well… I haven’t quite lied, but I’ve withheld the truth something awful. He even asked to see my face last night, and I said no!”

“That was your prerogative John,” Jasper reminds him with a hand on his back. “He paid for your services fair and square. He does not have a right to find out anything about you, other than what services you are prepared to offer. You did not knowingly give him some disease, or steal his money or harm him in any way. He got what he paid for.”

“But not  _ who _ he paid for,” Segundus says glumly. “Not some glamorous, exciting companion. Just his shy, well mannered friend from Starecross. He must feel dreadfully deceived.”

“Now now John. Let’s not put words in the man’s mouth, nor thoughts in his head. You will just have to speak to him when next you see him.”

“I hope never to see him again,” mumbles Segundus, though this is the farthest thing from the truth. In reality, he misses Childermass already. Yet he also fears having to face him. 

“I think you will work it out well enough,” Jasper says. “Do you wish for more company? I can stay awake with you a little longer…”

Segundus shakes his head. “No, thank you Jasper. You should go to bed. It is very late, and you’ve done so much for me already. I will go to bed soon myself.”

Jasper leans down and places a soft kiss to Mr. Segundus’ brow. Then he climbs the stairs to his bed. Segundus follows him up a few moments later. He climbs into bed and tries to get to sleep, but it takes a long time. When he finally drifts off, it’s into a dreamless darkness. 

He wakes early the next day. He writes his aunt a short message, sent by way of a delivery boy, that excuses him from meeting her for breakfast. He does not wish for her to see his blackened eye and ask questions. It is a long coach ride back to York, and then on to Starecross, and by the time he gets there, his eye will hopefully look less puffy and dark than it is now. He will have to lie about how he got it, and this makes him feel sick to his stomach. After packing, wishing Mr. Williams goodbye and settling in for the trip home, he decides carefully on a story. He’ll tell Mr. Honeyfoot and anyone who asks, that he was accosted while on the way home from a friend’s house. It was late and the man had come out of nowhere, had been drunk and had mistaken Segundus for someone else. Best to plead ignorance surrounding the reasons why the man would do what he did. Best to keep things simple. 

The journey home is a miserable one for Segundus. The other inhabitants of the coach, an elderly woman and what looks like her portly, disapproving son and a young girl, are all shocked looks and sniffs of disapproval at his bruised face. He spends most of the time not squeezed into a narrow mattress next to a fellow traveler, trying to concentrate on a book, or trying to catch some sleep with his hat over his eyes. His thoughts are scattered and full of worries over what the future might hold.

Finally, he arrives home at Starecross, and yes, Mr. Honeyfoot exclaims unhappily over his now somewhat faded black eye. He tells Honeyfoot the story of being accosted by a drunken man with some unstated vendetta, and the story is taken at face value. Though Segundus feels as if a fist clutches at his heart and a stone sits in his stomach at the telling of a lie to such a dear friend. 

After a small supper and a few hours spent in good conversation with Mr. Honeyfoot, Segundus settles back in at his room and prepares his lesson plans for the next day. After repeatedly being distracted from his work by yet more worries and fears, of what Childermass might think of him, of their future and the future of their collaboration, he curls up unhappily beneath the covers. 

He dreams of trying to eat an entire bucket of peaches. He knows he cannot eat that much fruit, but he tries, biting peach after peach, the juice running down his chin. The bucket though keeps filling, never seems to lessen. He is nauseated by peaches and feels quite unhappily stuffed when he looks up and sees Childermass standing there, hat in his hands. ‘ _ You must only stop eating John,’ _ dream Childermass says with a sad smile. ‘ _ That is all. Simply stop.’ _

Upon waking, he washes and dresses before heading down to breakfast. He finds out quickly that Childermass and Vinculus have not been by, and this at least is some small relief. 

The next morning, he is back at his work. Teaching a classroom of impressionable young people about the wonders of magic. He starts his day with a short lecture on the Auriates, and a history lesson about the great magicians of ages gone by, Martin Pale, Francis Pevensey, Ralph Stokesey, Maria and Gregory Absolom. The students twitch and squirm a bit, impatient to get to their favorite part of the day, where they can work at the doing of spells, but Segundus preemptively reminds them that they must understand where the magic they so long to do came from. It is that, or forget the Raven King. Forget the great magicians of the age that came before them, the mistakes made, the things England as a country had forgotten. They sit patiently, because they know they will not get to practice real magic until they’ve sat through these lessons first. And because they truly do seem to like Mr. Segundus. They are polite children, as he has taught them to be, and mercifully, none of them ask about his bruised face.

A week passes, and Segundus feels the trials and pain of his latest trip to London fading, just as the bruise fades above his eye. He is in the kitchen, conferring with the cook on her opinions surrounding which preserves will last best through the winter, when the door swings open and Childermass walks in. He brings Vinculus with him, and the two tromp their way in among a swirl of fallen leaves and a chill little wind. They are both a little distracted with coming from a blustery cold day into a warm kitchen, and Segundus takes this opportunity to flee, before either man can have the chance to address him.

He runs to his room, shuts the door, and then, for some inane reason, locks it behind him. As if he can lock out the mistakes he’s made. He hears Childermass’ low rumble, in the kitchen, one floor below, very faint. Then the wavering tone of Vinculus, sounding a bit petulant. Then the high pitched titter of the cook. The sounds are very slight indeed, but still recognizable. 

Segundus is not sure what to do. He cannot hide in his room all day. The students have been instructed to spend a few hours gathering dead leaves and working to reanimate them with spells of rejuvenation, and so they are running about out in the garden. He can hear shrieks of laughter and happy voices chattering in the distance. 

He knows he must leave this room and face Childermass eventually, not lock himself up like some maiden in a tower, but he cannot make his heart stop pounding, and the thought of seeing Childermass, after everything that’s transpired, is a terrifying prospect. What must Childermass think of him? A Headmaster of a school for young people, in a brothel, having relations with other men? 

He does acknowledge to himself that Childermass was also in said brothel, also having said relations, but Childermass is different. He is dark, mysterious, independent. He has always lived along the edge of what is proper and improper, skirted the boundary of light and dark. Segundus has always firmly walked the path of propriety. Or at least, he has tried to do so when he hasn’t given in to his baser urges. 

A knock on the door makes him jump and let out a small yelp of surprise. “Yes!” he calls out, his voice cracking with nerves. 

“Mr. Segundus,” it is Childermass’ voice on the other side, and Segundus suddenly cannot breathe properly. “May I come in sir?” he asks, his voice a rumble of distant thunder through the wood of the door. Segundus does not know what to do or say, and so he just stands there, sweating and panting, eyes fixed on the door as if an executioner waits on the other side. 

“Sir?” Childermass’ voice is soft and concerned. There is no hint of judgment, and yet Segundus cannot bring himself to invite the man in. 

“I am busy at the moment! I shall speak to you later!” he says loudly. 

There is a pause, and then he can hear Childermass’ boots thudding off down the hall. He relaxes, slumping back against the banister of his bed in relief. He will have to see Childermass later today, but that will be when they are around other people, and so it will be easier to bear. He will not be able to corner Segundus and ask him about what transpired in London. 

He gathers his courage and goes back downstairs just in time to see the children come tumbling back in from the garden, clutching fistfuls of leaves and dead flowers. He herds them into one of the larger classrooms and sets about instructing them on spells to do with speaking to plants. 

He makes it clear that reanimation is well and good for plant life, and the students will eventually learn to speak to stones, to the water, to ask the earth and the trees to do simple tasks for them, but that it must never ever  _ ever _ be used on animals or on people. Once a thinking, moving creature is dead, it must stay that way. They nod solemnly at him, for they know that if Mr. Segundus says a thing with this amount of emphasis, that he well and truly means it. For the rest of the afternoon, the children practice turning brown leaves green and making wizened daisies bloom again. Much fun is had, and Segundus almost forgets about the dark shadow of Childermass, lurking somewhere in Starecross Hall, waiting to catch him alone. 

Childermass and Vinculus are at supper that evening, but luckily, Mr. Honeyfoot has engaged them in an intent conversation about something very absorbing. Segundus catches Childermass looking at him a few times throughout the evening, and every time he does, he feels himself go hot under his neck cloth and across his cheeks and looks away swiftly. 

After supper, he flees back to his rooms, claiming that he has a headache. He falls asleep after much tossing and turning and blessedly does not have any more anxious dreams that night. 

Two more days are spent in this fashion, ducking down a side hallway when he hears Childermass approach, making sure he is not seated near Childermass and Vinculus when dinner and supper is served. He even asks for his breakfast to be brought to his rooms. Unfortunately, his behavior is so strange that even Honeyfoot, (not a man prone to emotional insight) notices. 

“Are you on the outs with Mr. Childermass sir?” He asks on the afternoon of the third day. “I usually see the two of you thick as thieves when he comes for a visit, and you’ve hardly spoken to him at all.” 

This is true. Segundus has wished Childermass a stilted ‘good morning’, ‘good afternoon’ or ‘good evening’ since his arrival, and that has been the sum of their communications. Segundus blushes and looks down at his hands. “No, we are not on the outs,” he says. “It is just that I am feeling a bit off and not in the mood for conversation.” 

“That is a pity,” Mr. Honeyfoot responds, placing a warm, reassuring hand to Segundus’ shoulder. “Would you like for me to take over some of your classwork sir? So that you may rest?”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I am sure I’ll feel better in a few days.” Segundus hates to mislead his dear friend, but what else is he to say?

That evening, at supper, Segundus again sits farther from Childermass than usual and does not engage him in conversation. Only this time, Mr. Honeyfoot has been called away to handle a minor altercation between students at the other end of the dining room table, and so there is nothing to distract either of them. Vinculus is busily working his way through a mutton chop and potatoes, and is no help at all.

“Mr. Segundus,” Childermass’ voice is very firm when he calls Segundus’ name and Segundus is forced to look up into his dark eyes. 

“Yes?” Segundus responds, feeling his supper turn to an uncomfortable lump in his stomach. 

“I will meet with you tonight in the library, after the students have gone to bed. I have some things that must be discussed with you.” It is not a request this time, but a statement of fact. 

Segundus again feels his face heating up, his chest under his shirt going hot as well. But he nods, and says “certainly sir,” for he has no will left to make up yet another excuse. To do so would be disrespectful, and he realizes, if they are ever to move past this situation, they must speak. He cannot hide forever, no matter how much he wishes to do so. 

He retires to the library after supper and pretends to read a book for an hour or so as the students all clatter off to their rooms and settle in. As the clock strikes nine, he hears the door open and looks up to see Childermass, a ragged shadow in the dim light of the fire, slipping inside and walking over to where he sits. 

“Good evening sir,” Segundus says, his voice remarkably steady for the chaos happening inside him.

“Good evening,” replies Childermass. He brings his own candle with him and places it down on the table, before sitting opposite Segundus. He takes out his pipe and fills it, before getting up to light it from a burning brand he plucks from the hearth. He sits back down with a tired sounding sigh and puffs on the pipe for a moment. 

Segundus is sick with nerves. He wants Childermass to speak first, but Childermass only pulls in crackling lungfuls of smoke and then lets them out again in small, fragrant clouds. He does not look at Segundus, just sits, one hand on the table between them, one on his pipe, and smokes in a leisurely fashion. 

At last, Segundus cannot take the silence any longer. “I am sorry Mr. Childrmass. For the stiffness of my manner toward you for these past three days. And I am sorry for what transpired in London. I have been meaning to apologize to you for quite some time, but have not had the courage.” 

Childermass does turn to look at Segundus at that point, and his eyes are very soft, shrouded in smoke. He does not look angry or disappointed. Only calmly assessing. “No apology is needed sir,” he says. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“How can you say that?” Segundus’ voice goes up an octave or two with his incredulity. “I… I….mislead you. I disguised myself. I did not let you… I…” he is suddenly at a loss for what to say, and falls silent.

“You did nothing more than play the role you were set to play. I had a right to ask you who you were underneath that mask, and you in turn had every right to deny my request. No one has done wrong in this affair. Neither of us are at fault sir.”

Segundus cannot believe him. “I am certain you were shocked..dismayed… very upset to discover who I really was, were you not?” he asks. It’s a challenge. He is trying to dig up whatever ill opinions Childermass has of him now, and bring them into the light. Get it over with as it were. 

“I was surprised, I admit that much.” Childermass puts his pipe down and sits up straighter in his chair. “I’ll not lie, It was strange to meet a man who seemed so familiar, yet to know that it could not be the person I thought it was. For honestly sir, I did not take you for the type. The type to…” he lets the rest of his sentence trail off, out of respect and privacy.

“Of course you did not!” Segundus feels anguish rush up inside him, trying to clog his throat as he speaks. “How could you imagine that I’d be such a man? Such a ...a… person. Why, I am an instructor of children! I go to church. I strive in all other ways to be good and law abiding. I should never have done the things I did in that place! It was… it… it was… immoral.” His voice cracks a little on the last word and he looks down at his hands, pale and twisted together on the table before him. 

“I do not think that it was,” Childermass says, and for a moment, Segundus doesn’t understand what he’s heard. 

“Pardon?” he asks, confused. 

“I do not think it immoral,” Childermass replies. Segundus looks up and sees a pair of coal dark eyes on his face, and immediately drops his gaze back down to his hands. 

“Of course it is. These… these…  _ feelings _ I have are very wrong, and I have spent far too many years indulging them. And now it has gone and cost me a great friendship.”

“Oh?” Childermass’ voice has a teasing note to it, and Segundus wonders how he can be so cruel as to tease Segundus at a time like this. “I was not aware that you had lost any friendship. Who’s friendship is it that you’ve lost sir?” He asks. 

“Why yours of course!” Segundus exclaims. “How is it that you can still respect me, now that you know it was I who… well… who…” he cannot bring himself to say it. 

“You think I have lost respect for you?” Childermass turns in his chair and faces Segundus. He does not move further, and Segundus still cannot bring himself to look the other man in the face. 

“You have not?” Segundus asks, again confused. “But, I… I lied to you. I mislead you. I made you think I was someone I was not. Were you not bitterly disappointed to discover my identity? That the person you thought was a … a … well, I cannot say it in this place. That I turned out to be plain, drab, old Mr. Segundus? And not the glamorous individual you may have seen me as in London?”

For a long moment, Childermass does not speak. When he does finally say something, his voice has gone very quiet and gentle. “Mr. Segundus,” he says, and his hand comes across the table to rest closer to where Segundus’ hands are still clutched. He does not touch Segundus, his fingertips stop inches away. “Mr. Segundus,” he repeats. “I had hoped very much that it would be you underneath that mask. I went to that place solely for the purpose of finding a person who resembles you as much as possible. So that I could keep from going mad from what I thought I could not ever have from you. When I found out that the man I was going to see was actually the man I  _ truly wanted to see all along _ , I was nothing but incandescently happy.” 

Segundus looks up then, from shock, and sees Childermass’ eyes on his face, earnest, pleading. “You… you were... happy?” He can’t quite bring himself to comprehend what’s just been said. That Childermass visited Mr. Williams’ shop precisely to meet a man who reminded him of Segundus… 

“Surely John, by now you must know,” Childermass says. “Surely you must have seen it in my eyes, heard it in my voice. I thought it would be clear as day, and the only reason you did not respond is that you were simply not built for that sort of affection from another man, or worse. That you did not fancy the sort of man I am in particular.” 

Before Segundus can open his shocked mouth to respond, Childermass continues. “And so I went to London, knowing I could perhaps find some relief in the arms of a stranger. A stranger with dark hair and eyes, of your build, with your pale skin and soft voice. And I found one. A stranger that is. And that person was so very wonderful. So very like you. But it couldn’t be you. How could it be you? For two days, I was pulled apart with the incongruity of it all. So believe me sir, when I tell you that I was happy to discover your true identity, that I tell the truth.”

“You… wanted it to be me?” Segundus is staring at Childermass as if he’s just sprouted wings. 

“Yes,” Childermass says with an indulgent smile. He closes the distance between them and places one warm, calloused hand over both of Segundus’ cold, pale ones. “With all of my heart.”

Segundus feels quite dizzy and is very glad that he is sitting down at the moment. “Oh,” he says, slow and thick headed. “Oh my.” 

Childermass removes his hand and sits back in his chair. “I shan’t push you sir,” he says, his voice going a little sad. “If all that you wanted from me was entertainment. If what we shared was simply a job that you felt obligated to perform, then I shall remain your devoted friend and associate, and shall not bother you further.” And with that, he stands. 

Segundus gazes up at him, stunned as Childermass picks up his pipe and candle and turns to leave. 

“But… but… how..” he stammers, the power of speech leaving him a stuttering fool in the wake of Childermass’ confession. 

Childermass looks down at him, a soft expression on his face. “If you wish to see me further, you know where it is I sleep,” he says. “You have only to knock and I will admit you.” And with that, he turns and leaves the library. Leaves Segundus sitting, stunned and overwhelmed.


	6. Chapter 6

Childermass… desires him? Childermass cares for him? The thought alone makes Segundus’ insides turn to bees and butterflies. He gets up, takes his candle in hands that cannot seem to stop shaking as he makes his way to his room. Once there, safe behind his closed door, he paces, back and forth, wringing his hands and biting at his lip. Childermass has invited him, plain as day, to visit him in his rooms. Childermass is somehow very comfortable with Segundus’ other life. How can this be?

Should he go to the man? Should he throw caution to the wind and go to Childermass in the night? Such a thing certainly seems highly improper. Not something he should do, not something Starecross’ Headmaster should ever do... But by now, he has surely dug himself in too deep to ever climb back out onto the solid ground of social propriety.

And then, moments later he is standing before Childermass’ bedroom door, before he’s even realized the decision has been made. Heart thudding away in his chest, he knocks.

Childermass opens the door a short moment later and he is ushered swiftly inside. He feels the spark of magic dance across his skin and looks at Childermass to see the man grin mischievously at him. “A spell for privacy,” he says by way of explanation. “Now you may speak freely without fearing that we will be overheard.”

“Oh, well, that is rather clever,” Segundus says. He puts his candle down on Childermass’ bureau and stands there, unsure of what to do or say, staring at Childermass. He notes that the man is in his nightdress, with his hair down around his shoulders in long, dark ripples, bare feet, strangely intimate against the wooden floorboards of his room, and feels himself flushing with heat.

“Why are you here sir?” Childermass asks. He is keeping his distance, standing by the bed while Segundus stands by the door.

“I, well… I thought about what you said in the library,” Segundus says, wishing his heart would stop trying to leap from his chest. He takes a step closer to Childermass, and Childermass mirrors the action and steps closer as well. “I came to tell you that.. That I…” He pauses, afraid to say the words out loud. Even though Childermass has already said them. Even though he knows all is well. It is the first time such words have been spoken by him in his rather long life, and he is unsure how even to begin.

“Yes? What is it?” Childermass’ chest is rising and falling noticeably. His face is a bit flushed and his eyes are very dark. He looks incredibly lovely like this, wild and soft in a way Segundus has rarely had the honor of seeing.

He screws up his courage and finally speaks. “I came to tell you that I feel the same,” he says. “What happened between us was not simply an obligation for me. It was… well, it was my fondest wish.”

Childermass steps closer, steps up very close indeed. Segundus can feel his warmth, radiating through the thin material of his nightdress. It is highly distracting. “We have never kissed,” he says, and Segunudus is momentarily knocked off course.

“Have we not?” he asks, though of course he knows this is true with every inch of himself. He hasn’t kissed Childrmass, for he never kisses any of his clients.

“No,” Childermass says. His hands have come up to rest lightly on Segundus’ hips, and this makes Segundus jump a little. Childermass goes no further, simply stands, gripping Segundus’ hips gently in his hands, and looking at him with dark eyes.

“Oh,” Segundus breathes. His eyes drift down to settle firmly on Childermass’ gently parted mouth. “I suppose not.”

“Do you wish it?” Childermass asks, very softly. A glance up shows him Childermass’ gaze resting on Segundus’ mouth as well, his intentions very clear.

“Yes.” He breathes, for he wishes to be kissed in this moment more than he wishes for any other thing.

Childermass’ hands come up to frame Segundus’ face and he is pulled forward until their lips touch. Very softly. Very gently. It is little more than a press of mouth on mouth. Childermass pulls away slowly, letting their lips separate increment by increment, until he can look back down into Segundus eyes.

This time it is Segundus who steps closer. He cannot help but slide his hands around Childermass’ waist and splay them across Childermass’ low back, temptingly close to the swell of his buttocks. He turns his face up and looks beseechingly at Childermass. “Another?” he asks.

Childermass smiles warmly as he leans down and kisses him a second time. This kiss lingers for longer, presses more firmly. Segundus feels Childermass’ fingertips driving themselves into his hair, and it sends shivers of pleasure down his spine. He moans softly and teases at Childermass’ lips with the tip of his tongue. Their mouths open in tandem, their tongues meet with a hot, slick slide in a tentative dance, and Segundus hears himself moan at the feel of it, feels himself go weak and shivery all over.

As if this small noise were somehow a catalyst, the kiss grows urgent and rough. Childermass’ hands tighten a bit in Segundus’ hair and Segundus presses his body against Childermass’, wraps his arms around the man’s waist as tightly as he can. He groans low in his throat at the burst of heat this causes in his belly. The taste of Childermass’ mouth, his soft lips and agile tongue have rendered Segundus senseless. All he can do is cling to Childermass and kiss and be kissed.

He is brought back to reality a moment later when Childermass pulls away a little to murmur a question.

“What-” Segundus is drunk, dizzy with lust, he looks up into Childermass’ eyes.

“May I undress you sir?” Childermass asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His sly look is betrayed only slightly by the sharp rise and fall of his chest beneath his nightdress and the stiff jut of his cock beneath the material where it presses against Segundus’ belly.

“Not if I do it first,” Segundus lets out a breathy laugh before swiftly working his neckcloth open.

Undressing happens quickly, with Childermass undoing the buttons of his waistcoat from below, spreading it open with his fingers and off Segundus’ shoulders. Segundus grasps his shirt and pulls it up out of his breeches as Segundus undoes them and pushes them down. In short order, he is naked, and Childermass has pulled his nightdress over his head and is naked as well.

They both pause for a moment, looking at each other. Segundus lets his eyes drink in the sight of all that exposed flesh. Of Childermass’ furred, slightly rounded belly, his slender, wiry legs and surprisingly narrow shoulders. He sees Childermass’ eyes, blown dark with lust, roaming over his own body, and wonders for a moment if Childermass likes the thin, white limbs and flat belly he is seeing.

His eyes are drawn down to Childermass’ cock, dark in color and stiff, bobbing gently, perpendicular to the floor. He steps forward and boldly encircles it at the base, gives Childermass a few soft strokes with his hand and watches as the other man’s eyes drift close, as he gasps in pleasure and pulls Segundus to him.

Soon they are kissing again, pressed together, moaning into each other’s mouths as they stumble toward the bed. Segundus’ hands are everywhere, as if he can read Childermass with the tips of his fingers, while Childermass’ hands leave trails of fire across his skin.

There is no thought or reason involved in their lovemaking. Segundus does not wish to stop kissing Childermass, not ever perhaps, and so they simply press themselves together and rub against each other. It feels maddenly good, this simple act. It is made even more enjoyable because both of them are leaking from the excitement. Segundus can feel the slickness at the head of Childermass’ cock where it slides against his thigh and belly, and he knows he himself must be wet with how ready he is. Childermass reaches between them and spreads this slickness over and down both of their shafts with a clever hand, and then settles against him once more. The heightened sensation this causes has them gasp in unison.

Childermass rolls him over, frames Segundus’ face with his hands and works them together with slow, purposeful rolls of his hips. He leaves off kissing Segundus for a moment to suck at the base of his throat, then to tongue at a nipple, and Segundus lets out a soft cry and presses up against the heat of his mouth. Childermass’ hands capture Segundus' hands and he pins them above Segundus’ head against the pillow as he continues rocking them together.

Childermass is making rough, moaning noises, or perhaps the sound is coming from Segundus… it is hard to say with the mad, hot friction between them. Segundus is arching up, thrusting up against Chidlermass’ body with desperate jerks, digging his heels into the mattress for leverage. He loves the feeling of helplessness, the iron grip of Childermass’ hands holding him down as the man uses his mouth and his cock to drive Segundus out of his mind with lust.

“Fuck, fuck, I love this,” Childermass gasps out the words against Segundus’ throat, his hips working, his breath coming fast.

“Oh Childermass, yes yes,” Segundus feels his peak coming, feels the friction between them drawing his body up tight and hot, readying him for climax. “I’ll spend soon,” he warns. “Oh god, darling, I’ll-” The pleasure hits him and he lets out a guttural noise as he arches and spills against Childermass’ sweat slicked belly.

Childermass slows down, captures his mouth and swallows the last of Segundus’ ragged moans in a fierce kiss. Then, with a few more slow rolls of his hips, he too stiffens and jerks and spills his seed, gasping “John, God,” as he does so.

They lay together then, panting, warm and smiling. Segundus finds Childermass’ lips again with his own and kisses him, lazily, slowly. He is not sure he ever wants to stop. Childermass submits to this treatment with a low rumble of satisfaction, and for a long time, they simply kiss one another and touch, softly, dreamily, fingertips skating over heated, flushed skin.

After some lovely minutes spent wrapped up in one another’s embrace, the reality of their situation intrudes on their bliss, when they feel the skin of their chests and bellies is becoming tacky and cool. They leave the bed together and spend some moments wiping each other clean between kisses before climbing back beneath the covers.

“I wish to ask you some questions,” Childermass says. He is wrapped around Segundus from behind, his arms squeezing Segundus waist possessively. His mouth is buried in the back of Segundus’ neck, and the feel of his soft lips grazing the sensitive skin there is making Segundus idly think of going again sometime soon.

“Please do. I shall endeavor to be less trouble than I have been these past few days and answer you immediately.”

Childermass chuckles a little before he speaks. “Your trips to London, are they a thing you feel you will continue?” Childermass asks. “Not that I object,” he says swiftly. “You are not a book that I possess, you are your own person. And I will happily share you if I must. I would just like to know.”

Segundus sighs and shakes his head a little. “I will make trips to London, to continue to visit my aunt and my dear friend, Mr. Williams, but I will not return to the brothel. It was a thing I did because I could find relief in no other way. And it was dangerous. The risk of discovery is too great.” He pauses for a moment, thinking before he continues. He feels tender fingertips come up to stroke at his brow, where he was struck by the belligerent client. “And yes, there is always a chance of violence in that line of work,” he concedes, wriggling his way a bit deeper into Childermass’ embrace with a sigh.

“Also,” Segundus continues, “I went there to fulfil my carnal needs, but some of the men there, they only do this sort of thing to keep from starving on the street. I feel as if my privileges as a gentleman have allowed me to play there for my own amusement for long enough. I shall donate a good bit of my earnings to those other men, so that they may help themselves along better.”

“That is kind of you,” Childermass says, then after a brief pause, “I have another question.”

“Yes?”

“Do you truly enjoy dressing in women’s gowns?” he asks. Segundus stiffens slightly at the subject matter. “Do not fret John, I did not mean the question as a judgement. I am only curious.”

Segundus thinks about how to respond. “I do,” he said at last. “I do very much. But it is a thing I did not feel safe indulging in when on the grounds of Starecross Hall. And I had no reason to. Why do you ask?”

“I ask because I like it,” Childermass says and Segundus can feel him smile against the back of his neck. “But you would be lovely in a potato sack, covered in mud, so you should wear whatever pleases you. I will still want to take it off so that I can get at what lies underneath.” He accompanies his words with a small yet devastating roll of his hips against Segundus’ rear, and Segundus cannot help but moan and thrust back at him a little.

“I might be convinced to wear a gown if you’d like to see me in one,” he says, just a bit breathless now with Childermass nearness. A warm hand sweeps across his belly and slides lower, and he bucks his hips forward a bit, stiffening with renewed interest.

“Mmmm, yes” Childermass hums low and tickling against Segundus’ neck. “I should like that very much.”

Segundus has something else to say and so he rolls in Childermass’ arms to face him, and of course, then he must spend a few moments kissing him, for it will surely take him centuries to tire of doing so. The kiss goes on for some time, and Childermass’ hands are kneading at his buttocks and they are both beginning to stiffen quite a bit before Segundus finds the strength to break away. He brings his hands up to frame Childermass’ face and looks into his eyes. “I do not want any lover but you John,” he says earnestly. “I know you said I am not your possession, but I find I quite like the idea. Of you… possessing me that is.” He goes warm in the face, blushes and looks down at Childermass’ mouth. “Is that agreeable to you?”

Childermass kisses the tip of his nose, then his brow, then finds his lips and delivers a soft peck there as well. “Yes, it is,” he says. “I will gladly take you and only you to my bed. I’ve wanted such a thing for a long time. If a possession is what you wish to be, then I assure you, you will be possessed, completely.”

Segundus goes all hot and shivery inside at hearing Childermass’ words, and then they melt together again.

This time Segundus presses Childermass onto his back and bends to take him into his mouth. It is a thing he’s thought of endlessly. Childermass gasps at the ceiling, clutches the sheets in his fists and utters hoarse-voiced profanities as Segundus works him slowly, thoroughly and with great enthusiasm. After he has brought Childermass to a rather loud climax, and Childermass has taken a moment to rest, he finds himself pulled up to straddle Childermass’ face and is slid between his lover’s lips. This position is new and it allows him to brace his hands against the headboard and thrust down gently into Childermass’ mouth. He gasps in surprised pleasure as Childermass lifts him out of his mouth and up a little so that he may tongue at Segundus’ opening, and oh my! He hasn’t experienced such a thing in this way before either!

When Segundus is gasping and grinding himself against Childermass’ tongue, Childermass again sinks him into his mouth and sucks him down, gripping Segundus’ hips, urging him on. Segundus spends with a low moan and a helpless shiver soon afterwards. He pulls himself free of Childermass’ lips and looks down at him in wonder. “Wherever did you learn such a thing?” He asks.

“I saw it in a book once. One of the ones Norrell didn’t even know he had.” Childermass smiles wickedly and leans to place a hot, sucking kiss against the inside of Segundus’ thigh, since it is so conveniently placed against his cheek.

Segundus clammers down to lay atop Childermass, reveling in his smell and the heat and solidity of his body beneath him. Childermass wraps his arms around Segundus and squeezes him tightly and Segundus is certain this is the happiest moment of his life.

For the remainder of Childermass’ trip, Segundus visits him each night. The next time, he wears his velvet gown and the sight of him thus attired does seem to inflame Childermass in a special way. They make love twice nightly, and Segundus thinks the sharp tug of desire he feels when he looks at Childermass might never be slaked.

Childermass must leave a few days later, but before he does so, he gives Segundus a small golden locket on a chain. It is shaped like a little book and opens to reveal a small lock of Childermass’ hair. “Wear this always, beneath your clothes,” Childermass whispers to Segundus as they say goodbye, out by the packhorse bridge, away from the prying eyes of Starecross. “Wear it next to your heart and know that my thoughts are always with you.”

Segundus is speechless, and only nods and presses a fierce kiss to Childermass’ lips.

“To whom do you belong?” Childermass asks, looking into Segundus’ eyes intently, his arms wrapped tightly around Segundus’ waist.

“To you my love. Only to you.” Segundus feels a thrill spark through his stomach at saying the words, at giving his heart completely to Childermass. “I shall think of you every day.”

“And I you, love. I will return in a month’s time, and we shall see what mischief we may get up to then.” Childermass smiles warmly and kisses Segundus with a passionate thoroughness that leaves Starecross’ Headmaster weak in the knees and breathless, before mounting Brewer and riding slowly away. He turns in his saddle to look at Segundus, and Segundus holds his eyes until he rounds a bend and is gone.

Segundus breathes a great shuddering breath before heading back inside. He goes first to his rooms in order to remove his neck cloth, clasp the locket’s chain around his neck and then do himself up again. The locket will stay hidden beneath his clothing, and to his surprise, it radiates a gentle warmth. He wonders if Childermass has somehow enchanted it, and promises himself to ask when the man returns.

He swiftly heads back downstairs to start his day. The students await instruction and it will be a busy day, full of classes. He thinks of Childermass often, and every time he does, he places a hand over where he knows the locket must be, and feels that subtle warmth against his palm. It reminds him of the love that will return to him when the month is up. He smiles softly and turns his attention back to his class.


End file.
